My Sweetheart is Out in the Crowd Tonight
by Teenage Mouse
Summary: Virginia City, 1860. Tired of his life as a silver miner, Alfred decides to brave the infamous Sunflower saloon just once, despite the stories that say it will lead a man to ruin. He promises himself not to fall under the spell of The Sunflower, but is instantly captviated by the legendary peformer known as the Britannia Angel, who is not all that she seems.
1. Chapter One

**Chapter One – The Sunflower's Angel**

Alfred F. Jones had lived in the mining camps on the skirts of Virginia City for nigh on seven months. As soon as he'd turned sixteen, he'd rushed over from the California coast, lured by the whispers of silver in the Sierra Nevada. The Gold Rush was long over, but there were mountains of silver being discovered – or so the stories said – all ready for the taking by those brave enough to venture out into the wilderness.

And Alfred was going to make his fortune from it.

People told him that only inexperienced and naïve fools followed a mining rush, but he was Alfred F. Jones and he believed enough in his good luck and determination to give the adventure a go. Fortune had always seemed to smile upon him, giving him good looks, a great start in life, strong instincts and many talents, so he knew he must be destined for something great. And what could be bigger than unearthing a whole mountain of treasure all for himself.

So Alfred had ended up in Virginia City in the summer of 1860, and quickly managed to make a small fortune for himself. He may have been one of the luckier ones to be able to make such a profit, but then he'd always been like that.

And yet still, this treasure hunt wasn't turning out exactly as Alfred had expected.

First of all, the money Alfred earned seemed to disappear almost as quickly as he made it. He would save all his wages, and stay far away from the city pleasures on which so many of his messmates depended, but still the expenses of life out in the wild were draining. The businesses in town and the traders who passed through really knew how to exploit people, knowing the citizens had no other options out here in the desert, and just paying to live in the mining town could sap the livelihoods of the men who built the community in the first place. If it weren't for the miners, there would be no town here at all, but nobody seemed to give the workers the respect they deserved, and Alfred's fortune dwindled even as he saved.

It wasn't the meagre profit that was most disappointing, though. To Alfred, the greatest reward wasn't money or status but a sense of purpose and satisfaction, and sadly, Alfred soon discovered he felt neither of these from mining work. This job just wasn't the life he had dreamed it would be.

It didn't bother him that mining was hard and dangerous work; that was part of what attracted him to it in the first place. The risks and life-threatening nature of the job seemed just the perfect thing for a real adventure, like the kind Alfred had always dreamed of for himself. But he soon discovered that the novelty of mining quickly wore off after a few ten hour shifts. The work was too tedious for the danger to keep it exciting, and instead, the reality of the peril they were all in burst to light the first time Alfred walked home to learn that another man in his camp had died that day. Somehow the thrill of danger and riches wasn't so fun when coupled with the thought of being buried alive in the mines. And that was only one of a countless numbers of horrible deaths Alfred had to face every second of the ten hours he spent in the hot, cramped, inescapable tunnels underground.

Yet still, it was not the danger that was the worst part for Alfred, either. For some reason he'd never been truly scared for himself, trusting in his good luck to see him through every day. And he could have dealt with the low wages, too, just for the sake of staying with the friends he'd made at camp.

But no, there was something else about the mining life that haunted him day in and day out, until he couldn't handle it anymore.

He hadn't been prepared for the despair.

After seven months of mining, the deep darkness and claustrophobia of the tunnels in the mountains started to seep into your heart, too. Even when you left the mines, the dank gloom and oppressive silence seemed to follow you wherever you went, weighing down on you as if the earth were still hanging overhead. No matter how bright the light of day, or how many friends you gathered around yourself, or how deeply you breathed in the fresh air outside – nothing could dispel the sense of dread and desolation that clung to you from the mines, creeping in on you until the world above seemed no different to the tunnels below. As if there were no escape.

Alfred was a man of light and wide open spaces, and he simply felt wrong being in the mines. Down in the tunnels, you lost all your senses. You forgot what colours were, or what a breeze felt like, and it was frightening how easy it was to forget if it was day or night, winter or summer. It wasn't natural, being down there; it felt like he was living upside down. Most of the boontuckers around Virginia City didn't seem to mind, but Alfred was quickly realising this wasn't the life for him, and that was why he couldn't shake that sense of dread that followed him every day. He didn't belong down there, he realised. He needed his freedom.

So Alfred was starting to think that he should try a new adventure. There were plenty to be had across the vast lands of America, as the spirit of Manifest Destiny swept one half of the vast country and civil unrest boiled on the other.

This miner's life just wasn't for him. It was good while it lasted, but his future lay down a different path: out on the wide open plains, with the world at his feet – not hanging over his head ready to smother him. He was sure of it now. And thanks to his good luck and prudent savings, he had the freedom for a fresh start and enough money to kick-start his next adventure, whatever that may be.

So now Alfred was just waiting for spring so that he could pass over the mountains, and leave Virginia City behind for somewhere new. He didn't know where yet, but he put his faith in the good fortune that had shined down on him his whole life. He'd find what he was meant to do.

There was just one last thing Alfred wanted to do in Virginia City before he could consider this adventure complete. He'd accomplished everything he'd set out to do here, but there was something he'd heard about in the mining camps, a little idea that had got into his head, and now he wouldn't be able to consider this adventure complete, or feel ready for the next, until he tried it.

For Alfred F. Jones had lived in the mining camps on the skirts of Virginia City for nigh on seven months, and he'd never once been to The Sunflower saloon.

The thought that he could risk it now made him shiver in fear and anticipation. He'd never dared go before, but now that he was leaving, he could take a chance and visit there just once before it sucked him in.

He frequented the other saloons in town, of course, and for all that they were shabby and loud and dangerous, it was The Sunflower that he avoided like a deadly precipice. He had to: it was an act of self-preservation.

For The Sunflower concert saloon was probably the greatest danger a miner faced out in the wild desert mountains of the Sierra Nevada. Sure, the work underground could take your life in a hundred gruesome ways, and the lawlessness of a boomtown could leave you vulnerable to every single person who crossed your path. But The Sunflower saloon could do both, and take your soul, to boot.

Once you had a taste of it, you had to go back. The girls were too beautiful, the service too ready, the drink too good, and the opium too addictive. It wasn't like the other bordellos or concert halls in town, where the women were as cheap and ordinary as the shabby wooden buildings stacked downhill near the mining camps. The Sunflower was the silver among the rocks, the dream of every man who came to Virginia City to seek his fortune.

It wasn't so bad for the wealthy patrons who frequented the establishment – the investors, traders and entrepreneurs who had arrived after the Comstock Lode miners to do business and make money off others. The Sunflower was good to these men: nurturing them, making them dependent, slowly milking them for their money like well-tended cattle.

But the miners didn't have enough to feed the addiction, and letting yourself fall under the spell of The Sunflower would lead to ruin before you even knew what hit you. The Sunflower may have treated its rich patrons like a meal to be savoured slowly, but the miners and their petty savings were drained in an instant, chewed and spat out like a quick snack, and left penniless, broken, and never to be repaired. Forever after they would long for nights at The Sunflower, pining for its luxury, believing the women who treated them so well when they had money to flaunt must still miss them.

Alfred hadn't wanted to end up like that. Inwardly, he believed that he could handle _one night_ without turning into a slave to The Sunflower, but he'd seen enough decent men ruined by the bordello to take the risk for himself. So even after all the whispers and infamy that crept out of that concert saloon and ensnared the other men, Alfred had managed to stay away all this time. He would allow himself the small consolation of listening to the stories that came back to camp every now and then, but he'd never dared step foot inside.

But now those stories were like fire in his veins, fantasies put together from the other men's stories coursing through him every second of the day and making his blood boil with anticipation. He was moving on soon, so he would be safe from the spell of The Sunflower. Surely it would be harmless to indulge in just _one_ night there. One night to sink and bask in the earthly pleasures and decadence of The Sunflower concert saloon, and maybe even take a woman to bed for the very first time. He felt like he'd earned it after the past seven months of gruelling work in the silver mines.

And so one night, for the first time since he left home, Alfred found himself stepping out of a barren, rocky, colourless desert city and into a world of luxury: the soft glow of the lights warm and comforting, the smell of rich tobacco so smooth in his lungs, golden trimmings sparkling in his eyes from every surface…And this was just the entrance.

Already, Alfred understood how those other good miners had met their fates.

This was a complete escape. For the first time in months, Alfred felt like that despair from the mines was slipping away, leaving him free and content and willing to do anything to keep this sense of ease for a little while longer. It didn't feel like it could be the same world as the one he'd left outside. It was like stepping into a fantasy realm, so spending all your money here didn't count because it couldn't be real.

It was treacherous, indeed.

A deep cough made Alfred stop his gawking and turn to the guard at the door. It must have been so obvious he was just a lowly miner, but the guard made no move to throw him out of the establishment, so Alfred decided they must see his sort often enough to be used to it. He may get some dirty looks from the more wealthy patrons, as he'd feared, but at least they weren't going to turn him away completely.

Alfred handed the guard his good coat, tried to take an inconspicuous deep breath, and was shown through the second pair of doors into the parlour.

The Sunflower was by no means the largest concert hall or saloon or bordello in the city, nor even the only building that functioned as all three. But there was really no competition. Unlike the bare wood and shabby grime of the other places in town, here the grand saloon parlour was decked out in plush leather seats and dark wooden tables, and a rich, red carpet so soft Alfred could feel it through his shoes. The back wall was almost entirely covered by a pair of large gilded doors, almost two stories high, that led to the concert hall beyond. Off to the right, the dark wooden bar sparkled with so many bottles of fine alcohol that Alfred was intimidated by the choice – but what was even more nerve-wracking was the sweeping staircase on the other side of the room that led the way upstairs to the bedrooms.

And therein lay the siren song that led so many good men to ruin at The Sunflower.

Out here in the wild west, men outnumbered women a hundred to one, and the whores in Virginia City were as ragged and tired as the men who paid for them. But in the grand parlour of The Sunflower it was like stepping into a dream. There were women everywhere, like an extinct species brought back to life. Or rather, a whole new species, for these could not be the same as the adventuresses from the cheap bordellos in the lower parts of town.

Here the women seemed to shine somehow. They were clean and soft, as if untouched by the hardened world outside, and whenever a waiter girl passed by a sweet perfume wafted after her, dizzying the senses to a happy buzz. The glamorous hair and carefully painted faces made it look as if each of them had been made by an artist. And of course, the lavish costumes were scandalously skimpy: their skirts were so short that you could see the knees of every one of them, and their bosoms practically burst from the low cut tops of their brightly coloured corsets.

Alfred was sure the suggestive clothes were meant to be the main attraction, but for him, strangely, it was the smiles that drew his attention. Even Alfred, who had never been drawn to a woman before as the other miners were, couldn't help but feel lulled and happy when the women glanced his way, their smiles so friendly and inviting it felt as if they were genuinely happy to see him. After surviving so long in the barren desert and rocky mountains outside, a world void of gentleness, it felt so comforting just to see someone smile at him so tenderly.

Of course, to the usual patrons of The Sunflower - the wealthy businessmen and merchants of Virginia City - it couldn't be that special at all.

The parlour was full of these people – smoking, drinking, stumbling, talking loudly and laughing raucously with one another as the scantily clad waiter girls leant on their arms or pretended to shy away.

Alfred could tell at first sight that many of them were the type of people who lived off of exploiting him and his fellow miners. Rich, greedy businessmen who spent most of their time chasing pleasure, judging by their round bodies and hands unmarred by a day's work outside. From the way they lounged around so carelessly, groping the passing women without a hint of shame, it looked as if they indulged like this every day, thinking it was their God given right just for being successful. They were the type of men who took their wealth and fantastic lifestyle for granted, when so many other people in the west were struggling to get by. And Alfred resented that. He knew he was a lucky man himself, but he thanked God for it every day, and never pretended he was worthy of such blessings.

And yet, as little as he respected these men, Alfred knew he had come to The Sunflower for the same reasons as they had. He, too, was here to relax and indulge, to ogle women and pay for pleasure, so tonight he couldn't judge.

Although, as he looked around at the regular customers, so arrogant and demanding, he still couldn't help but feel nervous and out of place. These men may be able to swagger around and enjoy themselves without a drop of shame, but Alfred wasn't quite used to being so conceited.

He stood there at the doors of the parlour, not sure what to do with himself. Go and sit down and call over a waiter girl like he owned the place? It was much more awkward than he had thought it would be, despite the beauty and wholly informal and uninhibited atmosphere of the room. He just couldn't quite bring himself to act like these men, even though he knew the women expected it of him and wanted his attention so they could earn his tips.

But before he could spend too long feeling out of place, he noticed someone approaching him, and as he looked up to face the new arrival, his mouth fell open in surprise.

This must be the famous madam all the miners talked about. Platinum blonde hair hanging loose all the way down to her waist. The signature black ribbon about her neck – in memory of her absent brother, or so it was said. Eyes that made you want to shiver and beg for mercy, even if you'd done nothing wrong.

Natalia Bragisnki, the owner of The Sunflower saloon.

There was no doubt about it – she was heading straight for him. Was she going to throw him out perhaps? Alfred couldn't believe she took the time to greet every new customer from the working camps; the only accounts he'd had of her from other miners were just from passing glimpses or rumours spread by her employees. None of them had ever been spared her icy glance, let alone been approached directly. So why was she walking towards him? Alfred snapped his feet together and stood up straight, his body moving on its own, as he prepared himself for whatever might happen next.

Natalia stopped right in front of him, and eventually, Alfred managed to summon the courage to raise his head and look her in the eyes.

She was smiling.

It was the greatest shock Alfred had encountered so far at The Sunflower.

It was a pretty smile, and Alfred was too young and gullible to realise that it might be the fake, friendliness of a salesman. He relaxed instantly.

"Good evening, sir. We've been expecting you. I'm delighted that you could visit our little establishment tonight," said the famous madam, her voice sweet and feminine and low at the same time.

Alfred faltered for a moment. "E-expecting me?! Truly? I guess I told a few people I was planning on coming tonight, but I didn't think you'd hear about it. Ah, b-but you're welcome! It was no trouble. Thank you for having me."

Natalia's smile wavered for a brief second as her eyebrows drew together in confusion and suspicion. But whatever thought had just flashed into her head was quickly dismissed, and her inviting smile spread back in place before Alfred could take in what had happened or realise he had anything to worry about.

"Oh, nonsense!" Natalia smiled. "The pleasure is all ours. We live to serve. May I interest you in a drink, or perchance some tobacco?"

"Uh, sure! I mean, yes, please."

Natalia escorted Alfred to the bar where she ordered him a glass of the saloon's finest wine. He wasn't too fond of wine, but he didn't want to seem ungrateful. Was he even allowed to intervene, when she was being so kind to him?

"You'll take a private box in the gallery, of course," Natalia remarked suddenly.

"W-what?" Alfred asked, almost choking on his wine.

"Free of charge," she said, waving away the extravagant gift as if it were nothing. "I won't take no for an answer. I know you'll simply love the view from up on the second floor. Not that it isn't spectacular from everywhere in the hall, of course, but the gallery is perfect for those who can truly appreciate what we offer here at The Sunflower."

Alfred had no idea what she was talking about. What made her think he was so special and could really '_appreciate_' the show better than the other men? Didn't he just look like any other man here for the pretty girls and fine drink?

He didn't know why she was being so considerate to him when he was clearly just another miner. Yes, he had bought some nice new clothes for the occasion (since he'd outgrown the garments he'd brought with him from California, anyway) but they were hardly a sufficient disguise. His suit still didn't compare to that of the rich men all around them, and he was too young to be mistaken for anyone of import. And besides, although he'd washed as best he could for the evening, Alfred didn't think he'd ever get the dirt and grit from the mines completely off his skin and out from under his fingernails for the rest of his life.

Perhaps the madam of The Sunflower was just trying to make him comfortable, so he let his guard down and threw all his money away! Or maybe she thought treating him nicely tonight would make him come back again and again until he'd spent every last penny…

Well, if that was her plan then not only was Alfred on to her, but he had an advantage: he was leaving soon, and he wouldn't be able to come back and keep spending all his money, anyway. If Natalia wanted to give him all these gifts of free wine and a gallery view just to manipulate him, then he might as well let her. He wasn't going to fall for it, and she didn't need to know that he wouldn't be back.

Besides, she and her girls had tricked and cheated plenty of decent men out of their money before. Surely she wouldn't be ruined if Alfred took advantage of her generosity for one evening. Let her have a taste of her own medicine, even if it was miniscule in comparison.

"That's exceeding kind of you, ma'am," Alfred said with a smile, hoping he looked more confident than he felt. He didn't feel too bad taking advantage of the rich madam for tonight, but he'd still heard plenty stories of how cold and merciless she could be to miners. He_ was_ taking a risk using her like this, so he had to be incredibly careful. "Don't mind if I take you up on that offer. I'd love to experience the show to its best advantage."

Natalia smiled once more and nodded briskly, before whisking away in a flash of white hair and rustling skirts, leaving Alfred alone at the bar. He felt like a winter breeze had just torn past him, and he couldn't help but feel a little uneasy. So he remained on his stool at the bar, sipping occasionally at his glass of wine and wondering if he could leave it and ask for something else.

No waiter girls disturbed him, which he thought was a little odd. Weren't they supposed to be trying to encourage him to drink more and spend lots of money? Maybe seeing him with Natalia had put them off, because they thought he was a special guest. He wished he hadn't been singled out and taken care of like that – he felt too awkward to enjoy himself. But then again, being left alone seemed preferable to throwing himself into the depravity of the men around him.

After about five minutes of nudging his wine glass around on the bar top, there was a loud creak, and the grand, gilded doors of the concert hall opened.

The drunken patrons all hurled themselves out of their armchairs in eagerness, staggering forwards and sometimes hanging on waiter girls for support. They flooded into the concert hall in the blink of an eye, and Alfred was left to follow along.

The hall itself was truly magnificent. Like nothing Alfred had seen or even believed could exist out here in Virginia City. It seemed that every new room he entered in The Sunflower led him deeper into this alternate wonderland, further and further away from reality.

The floor of the concert hall was scattered with dozens of round tables, each surrounded by a few luxurious armchairs already filled with red-faced men and a few waiter girls who had been trapped and made to sit on their knees. The ceiling seemed as high as a church steeple, allowing an upper gallery to circle three walls of the room on the second floor, circling the stage that stretched across the back of the room. There were probably more tables and seats up there in the gallery, but the drunken patrons had eschewed them in favour of hanging over the balcony railings, watching the sordid goings on below on the ground floor as they waited for the show to begin.

Alfred was once again lost to the world as he gazed around in awe until a pretty waiter girl with warm chestnut hair in a bouncing ponytail appeared by his side.

"Good evening, señor!" she greeted, her voice bubbly, a hint of an Italian accent adding to the charm. "Madam Braginski has asked that I show you to a box in the gallery, if that would please you?"

Alfred turned his attention to the two grand boxes framing the stage on the left and right. They reminded him of a picture he'd seen of the palace of Versailles in Paris, only these were like miniature versions suspended like turrets on the wall. They had thick red velvet drapes that could hide the patron inside from view if they chose, and Alfred was sure that they were furnished with the best seats in the house. But what really drew him was the fact the boxes were the only place in the concert hall free of raucous businessmen. He was very tempted.

"Are you sure it's all right?" Alfred asked, cautiously, still baffled by the attentive treatment everyone seemed so willing to bestow upon him. He couldn't help but think it must be a mistake.

But the waiter girl smiled brightly, laughing easily. "Of course! Madam Braginski knows you've been looking forward to this visit for a long time, so she wanted to make sure it was worth the wait!"

Alfred didn't protest further, so she led him up the stairs to the box on the right of the stage. She unlocked the door, and stepped aside for Alfred to lead the way, but he could only stand and stare from the doorway.

"Is it to your liking, señor?" the waiter girl inquired, anxiously.

Alfred wanted to laugh at her nervous tone, wondering if maybe he was displeased. On the contrary, this was all far too much. The splendour of the concert hall, the extravagance of the box – Alfred was convinced he couldn't be worthy of all this. He wasn't sure if he could even let himself give in and pretend just for one night. It was all so indulgent it felt sinful.

But as he let his eyes wander around his lavish surroundings, Alfred's eyes fell on the deep red settee, and he couldn't help but edge into the box, creeping carefully as if not to shatter the illusion around him. He took a deep breath and sank down onto the sofa.

It was the most comfortable thing Alfred had sat on in seven long months. And as he let himself lean back into it, the weight of mining life slipping off his shoulders, he knew he couldn't leave now. He may not be worth a place like this, but he felt he deserved to enjoy it just for one night.

The waiter girl took his order of drinks and tobacco (he was glad he forgot his horrible wine at the bar) and left Alfred alone in the box to admire the view below.

From here he could ignore the sleazy behaviour of the wealthier men on the ground floor and those up in the gallery beyond the secluded walls of his private box. Their voices still reached him but the noise was muffled, and being surrounded by the curtains and partitions made him feel like he was in his own little private world. And there was, indeed, a perfect view of the stage, drawing his attention to the front of the room and away from the sordid things going on elsewhere in the hall.

Of course, all he could see for now was the deep red curtain shielding the stage, so Alfred sat back and made himself comfortable, trying to calm the wild fluttering of his heart.

Over the past half a year, he'd only ever allowed himself little daydreams of this place when he needed to escape, but even that had been enough to fill him with excitement and high hopes. And yet now he was here, The Sunflower had still managed to blow him away. He didn't know what to expect anymore.

Once a new and better drink was in Alfred's hand, the lights dimmed, bathing the patrons in a glow like shining gold dust. The curtains were drawn back by an unseen hand, and the stage was revealed, illuminated so that all of Alfred's vision was focused on that one spot, and the rest of the room faded away into nothingness as if it no longer existed.

A man in a theatrical black suit appeared at the edge of the stage and his voice boomed out at the audience like the toll of a bell. "Esteemed guests, The Sunflower is proud to present our first act: The Snow Queens!" He waved his hand with a flourish, and two beautiful women appeared centre stage, as if from nowhere, seeming to glow softly in the pale white lights.

They were more like girls really, Alfred noted as he looked closer at the first performers. One of them seemed a little older than himself, but the other had to be at least several years younger. Both had white-gold hair pinned up in fantastic headpieces that sparkled in the light, and pale, beaded costumes that showed enough thigh and shoulder and cleavage that the men in the audience were already salivating before the girls had even opened their mouths.

The girls looked cold, though. Not physically – although Alfred wouldn't blame them with tiny costumes like that – but as if they were hardened and distant. Even whilst they sang and danced their beautiful, slow song, there was no light of emotion in their eyes.

Alfred couldn't really blame them. He'd heard how some girls fell into this line of work for lack of any other choices to turn to, and although he admired the girls' appearance he couldn't find it in himself to lust after them like the other men in the crowd.

He felt the same with the following acts as the show went on. They didn't all look as sad as the first girls, and they were all attractive women to be sure, but Alfred didn't feel as desperately aroused and needy as the other men seemed to be. Perhaps he just hadn't had enough to drink. But he didn't feel the need to do anything about it: he was content to simply enjoy the show for the incredible performance that it was.

'The Snow Queens' were followed by a few American girls, then a plump and pretty Belgian with a powerful voice and high kick, the bronze-skinned 'Island Child' from a British colony somewhere near Africa, and 'The Empress' from China, covered in a magnificent layered silk costume that was slowly stripped away as she sang.

And now, the lights dimmed until a single spotlight illuminated the stage, and Alfred knew they were reaching the grand finale. And it could only possibly be one thing.

The Britannia Angel.

He'd heard so much about her it felt like he'd been waiting his whole life for this moment.

His messmates all had their favourites, of course. Most of them liked the performers, for the extravagance and allure they emanated on stage, but some liked the waiter girls, too. Gilbert would go on about the cat heads on the Russian, whilst his brother Ludwig shyly mentioned that the bubbly Italian waiter girl was very nice. And of course Antonio would then jump in with praises for her twin sister, though nobody else had anything but complaints about that one.

But it was undoubtedly the Britannia Angel Alfred had heard the most about in the past seven months – and amazingly, it wasn't her beauty or sex appeal that really set her apart. It was nothing nearly so simple as being the most feminine or voluptuous of the women at The Sunflower, for by all accounts, the Britannia Angel was neither. She was beautiful, of course, but her magnetic charm was so much deeper than what met the eye.

The true magic of the Britannia Angel was that she seemed to know exactly what men wanted in their heart of hearts, as if she could see into their souls somehow. The miners who had been to The Sunflower would speak of her in hushed and reverent tones, as if unsure whether they could really explain the enigmatic allure of the Britannia Angel to those who hadn't seen her for themselves. They told of the power she commanded over her audience, leaving them feeling as if they had been touched by the person who knew them best. Men may come to The Sunflower to admire the pretty girls and enjoy their intimacy, but the Britannia Angel was the one who moved them in ways they had never experienced before.

She performed for everyone; her songs could move men to tears, while her sultry dancing set their bodies ablaze with passion and desire – definitely the best performer of all the dazzling spectacles The Sunflower had to offer. But of course, it was only the rich men who could afford to buy her for private time: the patrons who had been with every other woman at The Sunflower and had proven their loyalty to the owner enough to earn a night with the Angel. A common man would never get to feel her touch or be graced with her attention, like the memory of a dream you couldn't quite grasp.

So the miners told stories of her as if she were a mythical creature, a legendary figure of the mountain wastelands. And Alfred couldn't wait to catch a glimpse of her for himself, just to make sure she was real. He still didn't quite believe it: surely nothing like this angel could exist out here in the ugly, hard desert life of the Comstock Lode rush.

But then she appeared, and Alfred saw the real treasure of the Sierra Nevada. He knew instantly why so many men had lost themselves to The Sunflower if it offered treasure like this, even greater than that which they toiled for in the mines.

She was slim and petite, with a face so lovely it had Alfred craning forward over the balcony to get a better look. Her long fair hair was tied up in two bunches that looked like endearing rabbit ears, giving her the air of an innocent child, and the silken waterfall of hair spilled down her slender arms, making Alfred long to feel the soft brush of her golden locks against his own bare skin. Lacy black gloves adorned her delicate hands, matching the black choker around her neck which somehow made her bare shoulders and collarbone more noticeable and enticing. Her costume was a deep forest green embroidered with gold, and even from up here in his private box, Alfred could tell that the colour complimented her bright eyes just perfectly. It wasn't as bawdy as some of the other girls' dresses, but Alfred didn't find that such a bad thing. She looked more elegant in a proper dress, though the skirt was still short enough to be sexy. Petticoats and a bustle accented her hips, and the thick black lines of her tights highlighted long, slim limbs that suddenly made Alfred realise how attractive he found a good pair of legs. Her bodice accentuated the curves of her body, and though she looked rather flat-chested, she was still stunning. Even the glimpse of thick, dark eyebrows hidden behind her fringe didn't dampen her beauty and grace at all.

And it was that elegance and sheer, natural loveliness more than her physical beauty which Alfred noticed most as she began her song. It was a slow, sad melody, in a lower key than was commonly popular, but which sounded amazing to Alfred nonetheless. It told of an old toy left behind in England when the Angel had been dragged to America by a ruthless father, and it was one of the saddest stories Alfred had ever heard. There were tears in his eyes from the very start.

Alfred could tell the Angel felt every word of it, too. Nobody could be that good an actress. But even as she sang of something so nostalgic and tragic, the Britannia Angel remained proud and elegant, holding her head high and refusing to let her memories of hardship break her down.

Alfred was so enchanted, so completely and instantly lost to the Britannia Angel, that he didn't notice Natalia behind him until she clamped a hand over his shoulder.

"Did you enjoy her performance?"

Alfred jumped clear out of his seat at the sudden interruption. He looked at the stage and realised that the Angel was curtseying gracefully and walking away as the curtain fell and the master of ceremonies announced the end of the show.

"She was wonderful. I…I'd heard about her, and I wanted to see her in particular, but I didn't realise how amazing she'd be…"

Natalia nodded approvingly. "If you'll wait a few minutes, I'll show you to her room. I'm sure you will enjoy her performance there just as much."

Alfred gaped up at Natalia, eyes painfully wide and feeling like his voice was caught tangibly in his throat. Some incomprehensible gurgling spilled out of his mouth for a moment before he miraculously managed to shut it.

He worried for a moment that this was all a trap Natalia had laid out for him: make him feel welcome and important and give him the best seat in the house so that he couldn't refuse when she offered up the Britannia Angel on a silver platter. And then when his evenings with the Angel was over, she'd tell him how much it all cost and whisk all his savings right out from under him, like a bandit in the night.

He knew it was a possibility. And yet, right now, he didn't mind paying to meet the Britannia Angel. Whether or not he'd be able to go through with anything intimate was another matter entirely, but at least he could talk to her. And at that moment, he thought he would never want anything more than just to meet the Angel face to face, and tell her how much her performance had meant to him. If he had to stand up to Natalia at the end of the night then so be it.

"Yes," said Alfred at last, meeting eyes confidently with the Russian madam. "That would be most kind of you."

And so, a long fifteen minutes later, Alfred found himself in a luxurious green and gold room with the Britannia Angel. She wore wearing the same clothes as earlier, but had taken off her boots in favour of slippers, and her corset appeared to be loosened. Alfred's jacket was hanging on the back of the door and he already felt naked. His eyes darted of their own accord towards the big, soft bed resting against the wall, and Alfred gulped.

"I-I-I just wanted to say you were great," he stammered. "I mean, more than great. Exceeding great. Wonderful! I've never seen aught like it before, Angel. May I call you Angel? I wish I was better with words so I could tell you how really lovely you were. You made me feel so sad with that song. You're truly talented and – "

The Angel touched his arm lightly and Alfred's jaw snapped shut as if he'd been slapped. The Angel such incredible power over him it almost made him afraid.

She smiled shyly, hiding it behind her hand, somehow beckoning Alfred over to the bed without words. They sat down on the edge of the lavish blanket, and despite everything, Alfred couldn't help but groan inwardly at the temptingly soft mattress, so unlike his hard old bunk at the mining camp.

"Madam Braginski told me that you wanted to meet with me tonight," the Angel said softly, glancing coyly at Alfred's eyes then looking away demurely. "And I…well, I must say I'm nervous."

Good Lord in Heaven, that accent! Alfred barely registered what she was saying he was too busy soaking in that dulcet voice. Living in a boomtown like Virginia City, Alfred heard plenty of different accents from all around the world on a daily basis. But never had he heard one so sophisticated and enticing, that sent shivers through his body. This was no working class immigrant but a lady, born and bred. And not only that, it was _her_: the Britannia Angel, the source of so many stories and fantasies in Virginia City! It already felt more intimate and memorable than any other encounter Alfred ever had.

With a strange sort of acceptance, Alfred knew that he belonged to her now.

"I know I'm not exactly a stranger to these…activities," the Angel continued, pulling the American out of his thoughts and making him blush at the implications. "But when someone like _you_ comes along and asks for me especially…well, it makes me feel like I'm brand new to it all. I just want to impress you so very much that I simply don't know what to do with myself. I hope you'll forgive me for being so timid with you."

Alfred didn't know what the Angel had to be shy about. She was so sophisticated and experienced, and he was nothing but a lowly miner. Perhaps she wasn't visited by virgins too often, and she wanted him to have a good time. Or maybe she just didn't have any young customers, the same age as herself. But whatever the reason, Alfred couldn't hide his relief.

"M-me, too!" he exclaimed, gripping the bedcovers in his hands. "I've never…_been _with a lady before, so I'm really nervous! I'm glad you are, too. I just never cared that much about doing it, you know? I don't understand why. I mean, I've been to these kinds of places before – but never as fancy as this of course – and I saw the girls but I just wasn't all that bothered. I told myself I was being good saving myself for the right person, but maybe I'm just not cut out for the sleazy stuff, doing it there never really appealed. Ah! Begging your pardon, I don't mean you're sleazy. Just the other places. I hope you'll forgive me! You're lovely and you're the first girl I've looked at and thought I wanted to try, and I hope you don't mind! I know it's your job, but if you don't want me, just tell me and I'll go. I won't push you at all. You deserve better than that! And if anyone ever gives you any trouble just call on me and I'll come make sure they don't bother you again. You deserve the very best!"

The Britannia Angel's eyes had narrowed throughout his babbling, as if weighing him up against some measure Alfred didn't quite meet.

"You're not really Francis, are you?" The Angel's voice was a little lower and a lot less shy than before.

And it was an odd enough question that it snapped Alfred back to Earth.

* * *

**A/N:**

I wrote this story in February 2012, and even though it's one of my earliest fanfics, and possibly not up to the higher standard I hope I've achieved in the last 2 years, I really wanted to post it here. I still really love this fic, so I wanted to share it.

I originally wrote this for the Sweethearts Week event on the USxUK LiveJournal community. 'Sweethearts Week' was a 7-day fanwork challenge with a different prompt for each day (like 'Music of My Heart' or 'Taking Care of Business') ending on Valentine's Day 2012. Participants had 24 hours to submit a fanfic/fanart or other fanwork based on that day's theme in order to earn badges, with a prize at the end for those who earned the most badges. For this event, I decided to write a multi-chapter fic where each chapter was based on that day's themed prompt. I had a full-time job at the time, so I could only write in the evenings, and with the 24-hour time limit for the challenges I didn't have a whole lot of time to write the chapters. I ended up with a 40k word multi-chapter fic written over the course of 6 days. Needless to say, the quality was pretty shocking and the story needed a looooot of editing before I could post it here. In fact, the editing process was so daunting that it's taken me 2 years to summon the courage to work on it so I could upload it to other sites!

I have edited it a _lot_ from the original version, and I'm planning to add a whole new chapter that I always intended to have in there. That being said, the story is still not as polished as I would like it to be, but if I don't just take the plunge and post this now then I could sit here forever rewriting, editing and tweaking and never actually post it. I hope you can forgive the quality in some places!

Since this is a historical fic, I did quite a lot of research for the story, (considering the short time frame I had to write in). I looked at everything that was important to the fic – like homosexuality in the 1800s, brothels, the culture of the wild west – as well as the minute details of everyday life like food, common pastimes, clothes, etc. I do enjoy doing research, so I tried to fit in as many little details as I could to keep give the story an authentic flavour. However, a lot of details also had to be invented, and other times I just took liberties with the actual history I found. So I'm very sorry if anything is appallingly wrong, and I hope that the historical inaccuracies aren't offensively bad.

Also, _just _in case anyone was still wondering: this _is_ an Alfred x Arthur fic. I have used some nyotalia characters in the background (this chapter featured fem!Italy, fem!China, fem!Norway and fem!Iceland, for example) but the main pairing is still good old fashioned USUK.

And another quick note: there will definitely be more dialogue in later chapters! This one had so much exposition, but the story _does_ actually include characters having conversations, I swear!

**Glossary and Historical Notes  
**

******Sierra Nevada** - Nevada was not a state yet. It was part of Utah territory.

**the money seemed to disappear almost as quickly as he made it - **it sounds strange, but miners often struggled to become rich even though the Nevada silver rush ended up making hundreds of millions of dollars in total. Merchants and businessmen who followed the mining rush took advantage of the fortunes the miners were making by overcharging them for basic living necessities, so the ones not doing any of the work ended up making all the money. Later on, mines were bought out entirely by companies and the independent miners (like Alfred) were exchanged with low-paid salary miners to work for them.

******boontucker** - old guy (slang)

**Manifest Destiny** – I'm sure this is a common term to Americans, but to readers from any other countries: Manifest Destiny is "the 19th century American belief that the United States was destined to expand across the continent." (So says the almighty Wiki.) The term apparently fell out of use in mid-19th century when the Homestead Act of 1862 let people start working and cultivating the land of the Wild West, and it wasn't so wild anymore. But this story is set just before the Homestead Act, so I thought that as the west hadn't exactly been tamed and settled yet at this point, maybe people still believed that Manifest Destiny had some life left in it, as there were still things to accomplish in the west.

**civil unrest -** this story is set just before the American Civil War. Bonus historical fact: $400 million of silver made during the Virginia City silver rush was contributed to the Union to aid in funding the Civil War.

**concert saloon** - a saloon was a place to drink and gamble (like a bar), and a concert saloon would also include a show. Most likely featuring lots of girls.

**boomtown **- a town built up rapidly due to an influx of miners, either in a gold or silver rush.

******bordello **– brothel

**********Comstock Lode** - the silver rush that began in Nevada, 1859.

******men outnumbered women a hundred to one** - this was a statistic I found during my research, which explained why prostitution was such a big business during this time. In a lot of the boom towns, there were practically NO women. These were not communities with families like a regular town: it was just all single men who'd come to mine and earn money. It was either have sex with each other (more on that next chapter), or hire prostitutes. So despite the 19th century being a more strictly religious time, prostitution was sort of excused/expected in places like this. (Not the human beings are hypocritical creatures, of course.)

**adventuress** - a whore

******waiter girls** - the girls whose job it was to pay attention to and faun over the patrons and get them to spend lots of money on drinks and tips (and trinkets for themselves sometimes).

**the girls' clothes** - It was so hard researching what authentic saloon girl costumes looked like! All I could find were pictures of the cheap costumes you can get at fancy dress shops for Halloween, which are obviously nowhere near accurate. The Internet totally failed me on that one. This was where I took many liberties with history, but I did include as much authentic detail as I could find. For example, the girls dresses were a lot longer than the average person might expect. Anything above the knee was considered scandalously kinky, so the girls weren't necessarily walking around just wearing corsets and stockings – they could have a full skirt, and then men would still find it outrageously sexy. According to the pictures I found, the tops were extremely low cut – even more so than a lot of clothes people might wear today. So they could be full skirts on the bottom, and their busts almost hanging out of their tops.

**madam **- pimps didn't really exit yet. Instead there were 'madams,' women who ran the brothels and looked after the girls. (Of course, this is Natalia and her idea of 'looking after' someone is slightly skewed.)

**cat heads** - breasts (slang)

**the Russian** – for the purposes of this story, Natalia and Yekaterina are both Russian (as is Ivan, of course, though he doesn't appear in this story). In a real world/historical fic, it's hard to find legitimate reasons for a normal family to all be split up and considered different nationalities, and I didn't want to make up a convoluted backstory just to be able to call Yekaterina Ukrainian and Natalia Belarusian. So in this story, the sisters are Russian along with their brother. It's a shame not be able to include any little mentions of the canon characters nationalities, but it's really not key to this story where they're from, so I hope the change isn't too bad.

**The Britannia Angel's song** – this was based on a real song called 'The Old Oaken Bucket,' which was apparently fairly popular in the 19th century. In it, the singer remembers precious details from her childhood that they can still picture clearly, even down to the old oaken bucket that hung by the well near her house. It's nostalgic and sad, conjuring images of a more innocent time that has been lost or torn away from the singer.

**My Sweetheart is Out in the Crowd Tonight** - while we're on the subject of contemporary music, I should mention that the title of this fic is based on a popular 19th century saloon song called 'The Boy I Love is Up in the Gallery.' It was written in 1885, so doesn't fit in the year of this story, but I decided to adjut the title and use it for this story.


	2. Chapter Two

**Chapter Two – The Angel's True Form**

"W-who's Francis?" Alfred stammered.

The Britannia Angel smiled, but Alfred wasn't sure if she was happy or not. The Angel's face had too many expressions, and she was clearly clever enough to pull them out of her repertoire at will and mask whatever she didn't want to show. Alfred had always been easy to read, wearing his heart on his sleeve and leaving nothing to hide, and he realised that was slightly intimidated by the Angel – someone who could make you believe anything she wanted. Someone deceptive.

For now, all he could tell was that she was seemed disappointed, for her posture slumped and shoulders sagged.

"We were expecting a new customer tonight. A _real_ new customer, not just a miner out on the town," she clarified, sending Alfred a shrewd glance. "He's a Frenchman from San Francisco – only son of a wealthy family – and he plans to invest here in Virginia City. He and Natalia have been in contact and he was supposed to come to The Sunflower tonight and meet with me. He has blonde hair and blue eyes and is apparently rather fetching, so Natalia must have confused you for him."

"Oh," was all Alfred could say. His voice was small and dejected, and he couldn't hide the crestfallen expression that clouded his face, even though he knew it must make him look foolish and gullible. "Should I…go then?" It was possibly the hardest thing he'd ever had to say, and he hung his head, unable to watch as the Angel rejected him.

"…No. I don't think that will be necessary."

Alfred's head shot up and met the dazzling green eyes of the Angel. They looked almost…mischievous.

"Really?!" Alfred asked, beaming without even thinking how eager and innocent it made him look. But rather than laugh at his innocence, the Angel smiled. This time, it was definitely warm and real.

"Really," the Angel promised. "To be honest…I'm rather glad you're not the customer I was expecting."

She looked away bashfully, as if she shouldn't be admitting something like that, but Alfred was more interested in the fact that she had let him stay in the first place. She wasn't disappointed, he realised. She was _relieved_.

He was too stunned by all this even to wonder why her voice had changed and grown deeper, or why she was acting so much more naturally. All he knew was that he was glad the Angel could seem to relax around him, even if it did mean she felt a like a different person to the one he'd seen on stage.

"What about Miss Braginski?" Alfred asked.

"It will just be our little secret," replied the Angel, a smirk tweaking the corners of her painted lips. "After all, _maybe_ I didn't figure out the truth about you. _Maybe_ I didn't learn your name till afterwards. If Natalia was convinced that you were Francis, then of course I was, too. It's _her_ fault, really."

"Wow! That's…ah, great!"

Alfred cringed as he realised how pathetic he must look. He couldn't say 'I really appreciate it' or 'thank you' or anything so stupid and juvenile. And he quite obviously had no idea what to do next now that the Angel had invited him to stay. She must think he was a joke.

But it was the Angel herself who came to his rescue.

"So what is your name, then, stranger?" she asked kindly, saving him from his own embarrassment. Alfred turned to her with a relieved smile, and was surprised to find that she looked genuinely curious. Maybe it was all still an act, like the shy routine from earlier when she thought he was a rich and experienced client – but Alfred couldn't help but believe that she was a pleasant person.

"It's Alfred. Alfred F. Jones," he grinned. He tipped his head to her, trying to remember his manners. "It's a genuine pleasure to make your acquaintance, ma'am."

The Angel smiled, and even Alfred, in his innocence, could tell that it was predatory. "The pleasure is all mine, Alfred."

And suddenly the beautiful Angel of The Sunflower saloon was in his lap, her legs straddling his hips, hands resting on his shoulders and green gaze locked on to his startled blue eyes. Alfred's heart hammered faster than it ever had all those time he'd almost died underground. Even though he was in a bordello, sitting on a bed with a beautiful woman, somehow this still all seemed so unexpected – as if it were never meant to happen to him.

"Now..." said the Angel, grinning at Alfred's wide-eyed expression. "I think I might be able to help you with a little problem I don't think you know you have. What was that you were saying earlier about you being _nervous_ around girls?"

"J-just that I never been with a girl before. 'Cause it never really appealed to me," Alfred confessed with a warm blush and a glance away at the window. "I'm glad I met you, though," he added quickly, risking a quick glance at the Angel's perceptive eyes. He felt like she was seeing right through him. "So I'm a regular man now. I don't know why it took me so long to get interested in a girl."

"Oh, love, I think _I_ know," said the Britannia Angel. It was accompanied by a sad, almost pitying, smile, and Alfred was confused.

"Y-you do? I mean, know _what_?"

"Why you never felt the need to waste all your money at the bordellos in town," the Angel explained. "Why you don't get excited around girls."

"But I'm…here with you right now, aren't I?" Alfred insisted, willing her to understand so that maybe _he_ would, too. "I'm excited to be with _you_, Angel. And not just 'cause you're real pretty, you seem awful nice, too! I know it's your job and all but still, I just…there's something about you and I – "

The Britannia Angel shushed him gently, stroking his face to calm his anxiety, and pressing their foreheads together. "I know, Alfred, I know. I understand, poppet."

Alfred closed his eyes, leaning in to the soft knuckles brushing his cheek and letting the Angel's warm, fresh breath wash over him. He couldn't help but relax, and let all his worries slip away as she comforted him reassuringly.

He understood now why the other men paid so much for some female companionship in town every night. It wasn't just physical pleasure they got, it was a person to care for you for a little while. And out here, that was worth all the silver in the Sierra Nevada.

"Would you like me to help you understand?" the Angel asked softly, waking Alfred from his happy daze and bringing him back to the green and gold bedroom.

Alfred gulped, but hid it behind a nod. The Angel must have noticed, though, for she smiled, amused, as she took his hand and guided it under her skirt.

Alfred's face blushed so hot, so quickly that he expected any moment to burst into flames. His fingertips brushed the Angel's soft undergarments, and he prepared to push her off his lap. But before he had the presence of mind to whip his hand away, he felt something that was too familiar to be anything like the bawdy, longing stories he'd heard from the other miners. He froze, staring down where his hand disappeared under the Angel's skirts.

"I…I don't…"

He wanted to say that he didn't understand, but it wasn't quite true. He just didn't want to say what he suspected.

The Britannia Angel looked solemn as she let go of Alfred's hand and reached up to her hair. She fiddled with something round the back of her head, then at the side, and front – and before Alfred could register what was happening, the Angel was pulling at one of her pigtails and her whole head of hair was slipping away from her scalp, flowing down over her milky shoulder like a waterfall until it fell completely to the floor.

And Alfred could no longer deny that the Britannia Angel was really a boy.

Alfred didn't say anything, merely stared at the other boy's expectant expression. He looked hopeful, as if waiting for Alfred to speak and tell him this was all right. But for the life of him, Alfred couldn't get any words out at all.

So they sat there, the Britannia Angel (for the name still seemed to fit somehow) trapping Alfred's gaze in his, the green fire of his eyes more prevalent than ever with the long fringe gone.

In fact, Alfred decided, he looked better this way.

The thick, dark eyebrows actually looked good without the wig. The Angel's beauty wasn't hampered by them before, but now they really suited him. With the long hair gone, they added an extra flair to his appearance, and drew attention to those piercing green eyes. It was the same face, but seeing it without the cloak of femininity, with the Angel's expression open and honest, it did seem like Alfred was looking at a different person. A _real_ one, this time, not the painted doll from the Sunflower's stage.

Now that the long obstructing hair was gone, the Angel seemed more bare than ever. The short, messy blonde hair underneath the wig left the Angel's long neck and shoulders even more exposed, and with the black choker highlighting his throat it somehow made him seem even more erotic. The necklace drew attention to his naked shoulders, and made him seem more bare in contrast, and Alfred found himself wanting to reach out and touch the soft, milky skin. Alfred had seen men shirtless before, but this time was very different.

A tremor raced through Alfred's entire being, shaking the very foundations of his soul as he realised that he still _wanted_ the Angel. It didn't make any difference that he was a boy – in fact, Alfred realised that he preferred it this way. As a boy, the Angel was handsome, beautiful, sexy, exciting, and Alfred was drawn to him even more than when he thought the performer was a girl. Sitting on a bed with a boy made it all seem more real somehow, whereas Alfred had never been able to imagine being with a girl.

His stomach churned in confusion and fear, but it was all so sudden that Alfred didn't have time to escape or ignore the thoughts and instinctive desire that spread like a wildfire through his body: he was attracted to this boy.

And that couldn't be safe for either of them, could it.

Alfred's eyes raked up the Angel's torso again to his face. He looked helplessly at the English boy, confused by his strange thoughts and wishing the performer would explain what was happening to him. He felt like he was about to panic, on the verge of losing his mind entirely, because he just couldn't understand.

But as he searched the Angel's face, there was no sign of judgement or disgust in the other's eyes. The Angel only gazed back, serene and patient, and his gentle silence was soothing, calming Alfred's frantic thoughts.

"H-h-how…I mean, why…" Alfred allowed himself a long, shuddering intake of breath and continued. "I don't understand. I thought you were a…an adventuress? But you can't do this stuff if you're a boy, you'd get killed! Weren't you expecting that French guy tonight? What would he think when he found out? You wouldn't be safe!"

The Angel raised his eyes to the ceiling in exasperation, and Alfred winced at how small and young he felt compared to the delicate boy in front of him. He finally realised that his hand was still on the Angel's thigh underneath his thick petticoats, and he drew it out quickly, blushing again.

"He _knows_ I'm a boy, you darned fool," the Angel explained. "Everyone does."

Alfred furrowed his brow in confusion. "But…" A long pause. "But why?"

"Oh, come on, Alfred," the Angel smiled – possibly a real one, but again Alfred couldn't tell. The other boy _was_ an actor, after all. "You can't mean to tell me you've lived out here for seven months and never encountered any of that?"

"Any of what?" Alfred asked, his head tilting to the side in honest confusion.

"Sodomy."

Alfred jumped back onto the mattress so violently that the Angel fell off his lap; the English boy just managed to catch himself and stumble upright before he landed ungracefully on the floor. He frowned at Alfred, but his expression softened when he saw the horror on the miner's face.

"S-s-s-I-I-"

The Britannia Angel laughed. "Oh, dear. You're adorable."

Alfred wasn't sure what to think of being labelled 'adorable' by another man. But that thought came second to the Angel's laugh. It was definitely real, such a merry sound that Alfred didn't mind being the butt of the joke. Suddenly it didn't feel like talking to a stranger, and the darkened bedroom in the seedy brothel wasn't so intimidating. It felt like he was with a friend.

"But that…that type of thing…it's illegal, isn't it? A sin against God?" Alfred asked, made bold by the Angel's laughter. It was awkward to talk about, and he couldn't summon the courage to actually say the word 'sodomy' itself, but he felt like he could talk it about with this strange English boy. There was no judgement here.

"I know it seems strange to hear, but sodomy is actually quite common in places like Virginia City," the Angel explained, settling to kneel on the floor in front of the miner, who remained cross-legged on the bed. "I'm surprised no one's made any attempt on _you_ over at the camps. But I assure you, it's nothing to be ashamed of, pet, just a little mutual solace."

"Mutual solace?" Alfred asked, choosing to ignore his whirring thoughts for the moment in hopes that the Angel could make everything clear to him.

"Just think about it, Alfred," the English boy urged gently. "There are so few women in town – where are the men supposed to go to fulfil their most natural needs? We have no _choice_ but to go to each other. We need each other out here, don't you think? To help one another through a tough and lonely time."

Alfred's face contorted in thought, and the Angel must have seen that he was getting through to the American, on the brink of convincing him. He reached out, rubbing his hands rhythmically against Alfred's thighs, and Alfred was too far gone to stop him.

"I know we all grow up being told it's a sin, but that doesn't make it so. And it doesn't stop people from _wanting_ it," the Angel went on, his soft voice and tempting words enveloping Alfred dangerously. "Don't you feel it, too, Alfred? I can tell you're a good man. You'd know if this was really wrong – your conscience wouldn't let you do anything bad. But it doesn't feel wrong, does it, Alfred? Won't you let me show you how good it can be? You deserve to know what you really want."

The Angel was watching him so intently that Alfred couldn't look him in the eye. He didn't know whether to believe what he said.

The Angel was paid for sex, that was the only fact of which Alfred could be sure. He was an actor, and for most of the day he pretended to be something he wasn't, to entice people. He could deceive Alfred as easily as he could blink, and the American probably wouldn't even know he was being manipulated. Right now, he could just be filling Alfred's head with these sweet honeyed words to get him to spend money.

But there was just something about this strange, misplaced English boy that Alfred couldn't doubt. He had no reason to believe the Angel, but that didn't change the fact that something in his heart told him he should. He didn't know why, but he wanted to give the boy a chance.

Alfred had barely nodded his consent before the Angel was grabbing underneath the American's knees, dragging him to sit on the very edge of the bed. Alfred let out a gasp of surprise, but said nothing as the Angel untangled his limbs from their cross-legged position, and brought his legs to hang over the edge of the bed. He nudged Alfred's legs apart gently, kneeling in between them, close enough to press his upper body into Alfred's torso.

Alfred began panting and closed his eyes, but he could feel the Angel staring up at him hungrily.

"Y-you don't have to do this," Alfred stammered, breath scratching at his throat. "I thought I was getting a girl and – "

"But you know you want it more like this."

Alfred couldn't help the guilty frown that trembled at his brow, but the Angel shushed him soothingly, apologising. It wasn't meant to be an accusation.

"I'm sorry," the Angel murmured, squeezing Alfred's knees comfortingly. "What I mean is, it's all right. Lots of men like it, being with another man. It will feel so good. It's not fair for you to never experience it just because some people think it's wrong. Let me treat you?"

Alfred dared to open his eyes and look down, finding the confident emerald gaze of the Angel staring back up at him. And despite himself, Alfred felt that confidence seeping into him, too. With the Angel looking at him like that, Alfred felt like he could do anything – and _would_ do anything for this boy. He nodded again, determined this time to see it through like a man and not disappoint the Angel after everything he was doing for him.

The Angel's eyes sparkled excitedly, but rather than leap up and push the American into bed, he remained kneeling on the floor. Slowly and carefully, he removed Alfred's shoes, as if trying not to frighten him with any sudden movements. Somehow, Alfred could tell he was trying to be gentle and reassuring, and it was such a sweet and thoughtful gesture that it made Alfred's heart clench tightly. Once the shoes and socks had been pulled away, the Angel slowly tugged the lacy gloves off his hands, and Alfred watched, mesmerised, as the boy somehow managed to make the simple display so sensual and enticing.

Next, the Angel's lithe fingers rose to Alfred's belt, jiggling open the buckle with a metallic clink. Alfred heard that sound every day, but hearing it in this luxurious bedroom, with the Angel's hands at his waist, it suddenly sounded like the most erotic noise in the world. He clenched his eyes shut and sucked in a breath, realising he would have to be careful not to lose control.

The Angel undid Alfred's belt and unbuttoned his trousers, and then tugged at the waistband, looking up at the miner expectantly. Alfred's body obviously understood what the Angel wanted him to do and why, because he raised his hips off the bed. But somehow, it was still a sudden shock when the English boy hooked his fingertips into Alfred's underwear and dragged them down his legs along with his trousers, pulling them off his feet in one smooth motion.

It was all Alfred could do just to breathe now, especially once the Angel turned his piercing attention from Alfred's clothes to the strong body revealed underneath. He ran his hands up the American's legs, rubbing the fine golden hairs backwards with his smooth palms and sending shivers up Alfred's spine that made his cock twitch in the air for them both to see. He'd never felt so embarrassed, nor, strangely, had less will to care about it. His manhood stood ready and erect between them, and he couldn't believe his eyes were taking in such a scene: the Angel kneeling in between his legs, eyeing his flushed erection hungrily. Surely he would never get this image out of his mind's eye for the rest of his life. It was burned there for good.

The delicate, talented hands slid into the coarse hairs on Alfred's pelvis and fingertips grazed the base of his shaft. A sound he'd never made before shuddered its way out of Alfred's throat, and taking that as his cue, the famous Sunflower's Angel leant down and swallowed Alfred's cock in his mouth in one long go.

Alfred moaned loudly, gripping the bedding so hard he could feel his own fingernails cutting into himself through the thick sheets. His chest heaved with his jagged breaths, and he bucked up as the Angel drew his lips and tongue slowly back up the shaft.

He let Alfred's member out of his mouth with a wet pop and a small purr, but kept his lips resting on the tip as he looked up into Alfred's eyes. For a moment, Alfred tried not to look at him. He wanted to so badly, to meet those beautiful eyes and watch as that perfect mouth swallowed him whole – but it felt so dirty and wrong to watch, as if he were invading the Angel's privacy.

But once those magnetic green eyes found his lust-clouded blue ones, Alfred was anchored to them for good.

He stared openly now, transfixed, as the Angel dragged his fingertips up Alfred's shaft – so light, so damnably teasing, but still Alfred felt like he could feel every whorl of the boy's fingertips as they grazed up his pulsing red flesh.

As the Angel's fingertips made their way up, he swallowed the head, giving one long suck before pulling back and giving it a chaste little kiss with his wet, pink lips.

With a choking groan of "Ah-Angel!", Alfred doubled over above the English boy, and sticky white burst across the Angel's face.

Alfred panted for a few moments, stars dancing across his vision as unfathomable pleasure swept his body in hot waves. His eyes fell shut, and he felt as if he were floating out of his body, but heavy at the same time, adrenaline singing through his blood until he felt that his whole being was made of charged energy.

He had never imagined such bliss before, and now he couldn't believe anyone other than the Angel could give it to him like this.

_The Angel!_ Suddenly, the horror of what he'd done to the poor performer sank in, and Alfred opened his eyes and looked down to apologise.

But what he saw when he looked at the English boy made the words catch in his throat.

He didn't know if other men felt this way, or if it were just him. But seeing his seed clinging to the Angel's face, pooled in the corner of the boy's mouth and sticking his eyelids shut, was the most exciting, erotic thing Alfred ever witnessed. Instantly, heat pooled low inside him once again, and the sated feeling of his first orgasm turned into greedy desire for more.

If the sodomy weren't enough to condemn him forever, this thought surely would be. He must be a terrible person, to be aroused by something so disgusting. Maybe he was a sinner after all.

"A-A-Angel! I-I-I'm so – "

The Britannia Angel opened his eye not splattered in cum, and looked coolly up at Alfred. He stuck out his tongue and slowly licked the white substance off the corner of his mouth, smirking as Alfred's eyes widened in fascinated shock.

"That's quite alright. This is my job, after all. Besides, it's perfectly natural."

Alfred was shaking. He reached for a towel that was lying on a side table next to the bed (presumably set there for this very purpose) and wiped the cum off of the Angel's face for him, while the English boy knelt there and watched his face as he did so. Alfred's blush returned now that the blood wasn't running elsewhere.

"There," he said, eyes flitting everywhere to avoid the Angel's steady gaze. "Sorry. I know you don't think it's a big deal but…well, I don't know. It still doesn't seem very polite."

The Angel raised an eyebrow, and one corner of his mouth twitched upwards, too. It was a quirky smile, and it belonged not to the hardened sex worker but the real man behind the job. Alfred wanted to see him again, this boy behind the performer's façade.

Suddenly, Alfred realised that if he really _were_ someone who preferred the company of men (and he was dreading having to dwell more on that topic), then this beautiful, clever, captivating English boy was someone he would be interested in, someone who attracted him from the very first. He didn't delude himself into thinking he really knew the boy after this strange and sordid encounter, but he _wanted_ to.

"What's your name?" he asked, so determined to find out that he forgot his embarrassment from moments ago and stared the other in the eyes.

The Angel smirked, teasingly. "I really shouldn't tell you."

"Please," Alfred urged, desperately.

Another smirk, and the Angel tilted his head and eyed Alfred with a look of worrying cunning. "Well, I don't usually tell anyone, but since I'm going to keep _your_ secret – "

"What secret?!" Alfred exclaimed, terrified that he had been tricked. "You said sodomy wasn't really evil!"

The Angel shook his head. "Not that. I'm talking about the fact that you lied: you're Alfred, not Francis."

"I never _said _I was Francis! Everyone just assumed – "

"Do you think Natalia will care?"

Alfred's excuses died on his tongue. The Angel spoke the truth. From what the miner knew of the Sunflower's owner, she wouldn't care about technicalities, or magnanimously admit to her own mistake. All she would care about was that Alfred had deceived her, however unwittingly, and that the Angel's time had been stolen from someone else who had booked it first.

"She'll skin you alive if she finds out," the Angel murmured, looking down and sounding genuinely sorry for Alfred's predicament. "I'm…I'm sorry for putting you at risk, Alfred. I encouraged you to stay, but maybe I should have told you to leave so Natalia can't blame you. I don't know where Francis ended up tonight, but you are in dire trouble if Natalia ever finds out who you really are."

"But you won't tell her, will you."

Alfred already knew it was true. And somehow, knowing the Angel would protect him was so much more important than Natalia's wrath that he couldn't find it in himself to be afraid.

"No. I won't."

"Why?"

The Angel blinked at him, then looked away, eyeing the carpet pensively, choosing his words carefully.

"You're not a dirty, old man," he said, eventually. "You could be a dirty _young_ man, I suppose, but…you don't seem that way. You seem like a normal, decent person, and I don't get to meet many of those anymore. I just wanted to make sure that I still remember how to be a normal, decent person myself. I…haven't had a chance to be one for a long time, and I don't want to forget."

Alfred didn't know what to say. The way the boy talked it sounded as if he had been living a lie for a long time – turning the female Britannia Angel persona into his main identity and hiding his real self away for his own safety. Alfred couldn't even begin to imagine how hard that must be, all he knew was that he was honoured to have given the Angel a chance to be himself tonight.

He reached out gently and put his hands on the boy's bare shoulders. The Britannia Angel looked up, his eyes and expression much more open than they had been at first.

Alfred would do anything to keep it that way. He had been lured here by the persona of the Britannia Angel, but with every new glance and subtle confession he wanted more and more to see the real man behind the façade.

"So you keep my secret, I keep yours," Alfred promised. "What's your name?"

"...Arthur."

No sooner than the words were out but the Britannia Angel's eyes widened, green sparkling brighter than ever. Alfred wasn't sure what had shocked the boy so suddenly, but the Angel had obviously felt something that he couldn't mask from his face. He quickly looked down at the floor again, trying to hide the true, happy grin that spread across his face and lit up his eyes. "My name is Arthur," he said again, softly, to himself.

Alfred didn't know why Arthur looked so happy at something so small. All he knew was that he didn't want Arthur to hide that smile from him, so he reached out boldly, cupping the boy's jaw in his rough hands and lifting it so he could see the beautiful expression on his face.

Arthur's smile faltered under Alfred's intense gaze, yet something about the way those blue eyes stared at him made him feel at ease. Alfred _wanted_ him, in a way he hadn't felt in a long time – not since he learnt not to be so naïve in this line of work. Clients and workers alike made a big show of love and affection at The Sunflower, and he had believed it all at first, and life had been exciting. But he'd soon learnt that feelings simply didn't work here. There was no place for emotion in a bordello, and Arthur had known that for a long time now.

But that didn't stop his heart beating a little faster as he leaned into Alfred's touch. For the first time in years, he couldn't help letting himself be a little naïve and excited.

He leant up, resting his hands on Alfred's bare thighs, and let their lips press together in their first kiss.

As their lips touched and his eyes slipped closed, it felt like Alfred was letting out a breath he'd been holding his whole life. He never knew how much he'd wanted this, didn't even know he'd been waiting for it. He'd fooled around with a few girls in the cheaper saloons before, and it had even been free sometimes. But this wasn't kissing a saloon girl. This was a kiss between him and a boy that he liked. A kiss between him and _Arthur_.

How could something so simple _possibly_ feel this special? He could grab anyone on the street and kiss them if he wanted – anybody could do it at any time. It was so fundamentally _possible_, so free and natural and ordinary, that it shouldn't feel as incredible as it did right now. And yet as his lips brushed Arthur's, and soft sounds and warm breath melded between them, he felt that this was the most important thing he'd ever done.

Soon his hands joined in, fingers running through Arthur's hair and massaging into his scalp, earning a moan from the English boy that shot a spike of needy desire straight to Alfred's groin. Arthur crawled up into his naked lap, and Alfred tugged him forward as close as possible, unable to feel embarrassed about his actions right now.

He caressed the milky skin of Arthur's shoulder blades, pressing him into Alfred's heaving chest, desperate to be even closer. Arthur responded eagerly by deepening the kiss, his tongue flicking out and luring Alfred's to do the same, to explore each other's mouths properly. The Angel let his pale hands rove up over the miner's chest and shoulders, reaching his face and slipping the glasses off Alfred's nose before finally ending up with his arms wound about Alfred's neck. His legs followed, wrapping around the American's waist and clinging on tight.

Alfred's hands slid down the coarse embroidery and firm fabric of the boy's corset, fingers wrapping about Arthur's slim waist and squeezing tightly in return. At that, Arthur finally pulled away from the long kiss, gripping Alfred's hair for purchase as he arched his neck and leant back, gasping for breath. Alfred dove in for the milky neck, not sure whether he wanted to suck or bite or worship it, and having to settle for trying to do all three at once.

Thank God his hands and lips were moving on their own and taking and touching what Alfred needed. He never would have had the courage to touch Arthur like this if he'd had control of his senses, so he couldn't help but feel a little grateful and relieved for the way his body reacted on its own. He wanted it so badly he could barely breathe, but there was no way he would have had the courage or arrogance to ask Arthur to do this for him normally. The English boy was so beautiful and talented and mature, and Alfred knew he didn't deserve him, had no right to expect him to accept Alfred's amateur fumbling. There was no way that the simple teenaged miner, with all his glaring inexperience, could make Arthur feel as good as he deserved, so he really should leave the boy alone. If it were up to Alfred, he would never have the audacity to put himself upon Arthur like this, no matter how much he wanted it.

Luckily, though, Alfred was lost inside a haze of heat and pleasure, and it was his body that took full control, meaning he could enjoy the Britannia Angel's company, at least just this once.

"Let me get this off or I'll faint," Arthur panted, reaching behind himself to fiddle with the laces and clasps of his corset.

Alfred didn't know the first thing about removing such complicated and fancy women's clothes, so he settled for kissing Arthur's neck while the English boy shed his corset and bustle and choker. He only slid off Alfred's lap to remove his skirts and underclothes, but still managed to stay attached to Alfred's lips the whole time, so the American barely noticed. Alfred only came back to himself when he felt Arthur tugging his own shirt off his shoulders. He hadn't even noticed the other boy had unbuttoning it.

The surprise of feeling his shirt fabric falling away from his shoulders made Alfred's sight clear of its lusty haze for a brief moment, and he leant back a little to see what was happening.

There was Arthur, a boy, straddling his lap, thighs pressing down into his own, both of them naked.

And to Alfred, it felt right. He'd never realised he was different before, had always assumed he wasn't interested in girls because he was a romantic and hadn't found the right one. He knew he would have been horrified had anyone ever told him he was actually attracted to men, and that was still something he would have to deal with when he woke up tomorrow.

But here in this room, with Arthur guiding him, he couldn't feel scared or disgusted. He just felt lucky.

Arthur was pale and slim, and Alfred was so tanned from growing up in California and well-built from his hard work in the mines. He wondered for a moment if he felt comfortable about all this because they looked so different and he could think of Arthur like a girl, what with the delicate appearance of his body and the lingering make-up Alfred hadn't kissed off his face.

But it didn't feel like that at all. Arthur wasn't feminine or girly, and that wasn't why he was so appealing. He was a boy, and Alfred liked that.

Still, it wasn't a purely physical attraction either. Alfred glanced at Arthur's body and admired it, but more than that he was mesmerised by the English boy's face. He stared into those green eyes and realised, once again, how much he'd missed that colour since moving to the grey, dusty Sierra Nevada. Green was a life-giving colour.

And although he reminded himself that he knew nothing about Arthur, Alfred couldn't help but feel that those amazing eyes revealed the kind of person that Arthur truly was. And he wanted nothing more than to get close to the boy he saw in those eyes.

Soon Alfred found his body taking over again, melting into Arthur's as if they shouldn't stay away from each other. Their lips met in gentle, peppered kisses, hands exploring tenderly, and Alfred felt himself sinking into a passion-fuelled daze once more.

But the moment Arthur reached down between their bare thighs and grabbed the miner's hardening erection, Alfred was pulled back to consciousness long enough to remember that he wanted to be a good person to Arthur.

"You don't have to do this," he murmured huskily, voice so unrecognizably deep that it shocked him. "I've already…finished once, and I'm sure you have better things to do – "

"But I like it," Arthur moaned, nestling his head in the hot junction of Alfred's neck and stroking the other's member to life, breathing in the ragged pants that he coaxed out of the American's throat. "I like being with men, but I never get to choose. Let me play with you. I want to have some fun with _you_, Alfred. A nice boy, my age, just this once?"

Alfred wanted to laugh. Why did Arthur even bother to make it a question? Did he really think there was any that Alfred would turn him down?

A feral groan rumbled in Alfred's throat and he grabbed Arthur around the middle, gathering the boy up into his arms. He lost his balance as he did so, and they tumbled back on to the soft covers of the bed.

"Arthur," Alfred moaned desperately, as the Angel disappeared from his lips in the fall.

"Mmmm, Alfred." Arthur appeared above him to kiss the American's warm, eager mouth before drawing away again. "Beautiful boy," he said, as he settled himself somewhere around Alfred's waist, lifting himself up in the air, with his knees digging into the mattress on either side of Alfred's hips.

Suddenly Alfred realised what Arthur was about to do, but that realisation was the last thought he had time for before Arthur sank down onto his erection, taking it all into the tight, soft, warmth inside him.

Alfred groaned in pure ecstasy, managing to get out a cry of "Arthur!" in the midst of it. He didn't need to wish he had a clearer head to express himself: the word 'Arthur' was perfect all on its own. It was the best word he knew.

Time dragged by, whether seconds or minutes Alfred couldn't tell because to him it felt like blissful hours that he was squeezed tight inside Arthur's entrance. But eventually, the rapturous fog cleared and he looked up to check on the Britannia Angel, to make sure he felt this good, too.

He almost panicked when he saw Arthur's eyebrows were scrunched in pain. Alfred didn't know what to do, couldn't form a coherent thought, but he knew he wanted to look after this boy who was so good to him. He reached out and stroked Arthur's thighs, ran his hands gently round his waist and drew circles into his sides to comfort him and show he cared.

Then he thought of something better, something he had forgotten about in the heat and excitement of the last few minutes. Arthur was a boy, too, and Alfred knew a decent way to make a boy feel good.

It probably should have felt wrong or strange, but Alfred didn't hesitate as he reached out and took Arthur's erection in his palm. Alfred had touched himself many times before, so the feeling of rubbing a hot length in his hand, damp from sweat, should have been all too familiar. Yet somehow it felt entirely different now that he was touching someone else.

But it didn't feel bad at all. In fact, it felt exhilarating.

The truth hadn't really occurred to Alfred when Arthur had told him he was a sodomite. He knew that meant he wanted to be inside another man to have sex, but as he watched himself pump Arthur's erection he realised it was more than that. He liked this. He liked touching Arthur's cock, and he wanted to do more. He wanted Arthur to be inside of him, too.

But that would have to wait for another night. For now, he was already in heaven feeling Arthur's tight, hot walls clinging to him as the boy struggled to get used to the length inside him. Alfred let him take his time, sinking deeper into ecstasy with every ripple of movement between them. He tried to share his pleasure and gratitude by stroking Arthur's cock, running his hands over it with as much feeling as he could muster in his pleasure-induced daze.

It must have been working because soon Arthur's mouth fell open in a silent moan, and he began grinding down on the thick cock impaled inside him.

"Ah…Ha…Ahn…Alfred…"

The moans were bad enough, but when Arthur uttered his name like that between gasps and pants, Alfred lost control. He couldn't help the surge of desire that made him buck up into Arthur's tight depths, plunging even further inside him.

"Nnnngh!" Arthur groaned. "So big…Alfred!"

Alfred wanted to cry out in pleasure, but he couldn't even control his own voice anymore. He had no idea if he was making any sounds at all. All he knew was that Arthur was now bouncing up and down on his cock as if Alfred were nothing more than a toy for his pleasure, made to pound away inside him.

And Alfred almost felt like he did belong to Arthur now, his whole body just an instrument under the English boy's control, unable to do anything more than react to his touch. He'd never felt so helpless, nor so safe and loved as Arthur used his power over him to bring Alfred bliss.

He watched, cementing this moment in his memory: Arthur riding up and down on his hips, Alfred's cock sliding back and forth, in and out from that delicious heat and trembling tightness. Then there was a soundless gasp, a blissful mewl, and a pair of grinning green eyes fixed on him as Arthur managed to graze his prostrate on the American's cock…

Alfred could only manage to take this bliss for a few more seconds before he gripped Arthur's hips, slamming the English boy down onto his cock as Alfred came hard inside him with a loud cry of "Arthur!"

It was his first time, and Arthur was too good to hold out for long.

Alfred fell back into the bed covers, heavy and limp and impossibly sated. But Arthur wasn't finished yet, and wasted no time in slipping off the American's spent cock, propping himself up over Alfred's face with one hand and stroking himself with the other.

Alfred's head lolled on the bedcovers as he came back to his senses. His vision swam back slowly, and when he blinked awake from his euphoric high he found Arthur above him, pleasuring himself at the sight and sensations the American had left with him.

Alfred watched him tenderly, and Arthur kept his gaze as he touched himself, breaking it only to clamp his eyes shut occasionally when pleasure shot through him.

Alfred stared up at Arthur with lazy, hooded eyes, marvelling at him. He couldn't help but wonder if another boy pleasuring himself over him in the same situation would be as exciting and arousing, but it felt wrong to even think about it. He didn't care what was happening, what he was doing, as long as it was Arthur he was close to.

He reached up with sluggish arms and brought Arthur's face down into a soft kiss. Arthur, still riding waves of heated pleasure, sucked and bit on Alfred's lips, leaving open-mouthed kisses all over him until Alfred woke up enough to kiss back properly, opening his mouth and letting Arthur's tongue invade him.

Too focused on kissing and pumping his leaking arousal, Arthur could hold himself up no longer. He fell on top of Alfred so that they were lying hot and sweaty against each other and impossibly, perfectly close. Unable to move his hand properly with his body trapped against the American's, Arthur began rutting into Alfred's thigh, forehead pressed into the American's shoulder, hands grasping at the firm chest below him, arching and squirming and grunting as his dripping red cock slipped up and down in the sweaty crook of Alfred's thigh.

Alfred let him continue for a moment, wishing he could get hard again but knowing it would take a while this time. Still, he didn't have to le Arthur do all the work for himself.

In one quick move, he rolled them over carefully until Arthur was pinned below him. The English boy gazed up at him, bewildered that the former virgin was being so dominant, but too lust-dazed to do anything about it.

Alfred reached down and took hold of Arthur's cock again, pumping it hard and firm and fast and watching as Arthur writhed and trembled beneath him, gasping and mewling and moaning as Alfred took control for him.

Arthur managed to open his eyes long enough for them to lock gazes, and see each other in a moment that only lovers shared.

"Arthur."

The word slipped out of Alfred's mouth, deep and reverent. There was no meaning to it, other than that is was the most perfect word Alfred had now, and he wanted to say it whenever he had the chance.

And suddenly the English boy was arching up, spilling his seed into Alfred's hand and screaming in pleasure as his orgasm shook him. He collapsed onto the bed, boneless and sated, heaving for breath and looking thoroughly exhausted.

Alfred let him rest for a minute, wiping his hand off on the blankets and lying down beside him while they both recovered.

He watched quietly as Arthur's breathing slowed, and his body stopped trembling. Alfred suddenly wanted to laugh, giddily, but managed to hold it in before he made a fool of himself.

Finally, the English boy opened his eyes again and glanced over. And in an instant, as if it had been an invitation for them both, Alfred was lifting himself up again, leaning over Arthur who curled towards him, and they were glued together in a passionate kiss once more.

This one was a bit different from the heat-driven kisses they shared before. It was long and slow and comfortable, occasionally turning into showers of little kisses peppered across each other's faces, and joined by lots of affectionate strokes and touches with none of the lust from before. It was hopeful, tender, and somehow longing, Alfred thought. At least for _him_.

But it was all right. He had fallen under a spell, but it wasn't the spell of The Sunflower so he didn't feel like one of the cautionary tales the miners told to warn each other about this place. He _was_ desperate for more, but it was more _Arthur_ that he wanted. And he couldn't feel guilty or stupid for that.

Maybe he'd lead himself to ruin if he came back here, but he couldn't find the will to care. He already knew he'd be back tomorrow night. And no matter what happened, no matter what gambles and risks he had to take to be part of this boy's life, he knew would never regret the day that he met the Britannia Angel of The Sunflower saloon.

* * *

**A/N:**

I am absolutely no expert on the history of homosexuality, either in the Old West or anywhere else in the world. But I did as much research as I could for this fic in order to a) treat the topic with some respect, and b) write it with some sense of historical accuracy. When I got the idea for this story I actually thought it wouldn't work because I imagined that homosexuality wouldn't be condoned in the Old West, so it would be impossible to have a male prostitute sleeping with male clients. However, after doing some research, I discovered that a story like this might not be as impossible as one might think.

**Glossary and Historical Notes**

**wigs **– wigs could actually be nicer than real hair, since there were no hair care products in those days.

**an adventuress** - a whore

**homosexuality in 1860 **– the word 'homosexuality' wasn't even invented until 1868, which tells you pretty much everything you need to know. In a world where there wasn't even a word for someone who wasn't straight, heterosexuality was thought to be the only natural norm, and people didn't have a notion of there being different sexual orientations. Male homosexuality was merely considered a sinful sex act (anal sex, i.e. sodomy) rather than a whole sexual identity, and gay men were just thought to be straight men who had evil urges. Same-sex relationships were illegal in most places, punishable by death – so anyone who realised they were gay was at great risk if they tried to enter into a relationship. But it wasn't easy for people to even realise they were gay at all. One source I found explained that "the cultural treatment of homosexuality as a sickness, a sin, and a criminal act would be internalized by homosexuals – keeping homosexuality suppressed personally and culturally." The writer goes on to say that for gay people at that time, "communal solidarity and self-consciousness was impossible." This is the world Alfred grew up in during this story. He is gay, he just never had a chance to realise it before because he always assumed he was straight, the way everyone was 'supposed' to be.

**mutual solace** – as mentioned above, homosexuality was taboo and illegal in many places during this time period. But despite all this, sodomy was not uncommon in the wild west, where women could be very, very rare (sometimes 100 men to every 1 woman, as mentioned in the previous chapter). 'Mutual solace' was a term used for the common practice of being physically intimate with another man because there were no women available. It was pretty much the only option for the hundreds of men living together in a mining town, or cowboys alone in the middle of nowhere: either they sleep with each other, or go long periods of time without sex at all. If they chose the former, their culture dictated that they would go to hell – if they went with the latter…well, I don't think most men can even contemplate life without sex, so they chose the sodomy route, and just decided the going to hell part didn't count when it was convenient for them. It seems ridiculously hypocritical that sodomy should still be punishable by death, yet everyone was doing it, but that's just how society rolls I guess.

**male prostitutes** – in large urban areas there was slightly more opportunity to foster sexual subcultures, so in big cities like New York and San Francisco some brothels did employ male prostitutes, knowing that there was a market for same-sex relations. But whether it was New York or a little place like Virginia City, homosexuality was still illegal, and in a relatively small place like Virginia City it would be difficult to keep Arthur on as a male prostitute without anybody finding out. If anyone found out that a bordello hired a male prostitute then the establishment would be shut down, and people would be imprisoned/hanged. So Arthur has to keep his true identity a complete secret by dressing as a girl at The Sunflower.


	3. Chapter Three

**Chapter Three – A New Client for the Angel**

Alfred and Arthur lay there gazing at each other, feeling a little as if they were pleasantly drunk. Alfred was too busy trying to memorise the Angel's content little smile to be self-conscious about the way his fingers played familiarly with the English boy's hair, or the way they were both naked and sticky on top of the bed covers for anyone to find.

"You don't look at me like a virgin would."

It took a minute for the comment to sink in, and for Alfred to come out of his happy daze and remember how to use words again. Words seemed so silly now that he knew how he could _really_ express himself to someone he cared about, with touches and breaths and eyes and moans.

"Well, I'm not a virgin anymore," he grinned in reply.

Arthur turned his head away to hide his amused smile, and Alfred brimmed with pride that he could make the Angel laugh. But suddenly his brow furrowed in thought.

"You don't look at me like you're doing it for the money," he realised, aloud.

Even with the other boy's head partially turned away, Alfred could see Arthur's face fall. The smile was swept away as if it never existed, and an almost scared look flashed across his eyes before he covered it up under one of his professional masks. Something in him had shattered so obviously that it was almost physical, and Alfred's heart clenched painfully, worried that he had said the wrong thing and upset the English boy.

"Arthur? I don't mean that it's a bad thing," Alfred urged gently. He reached out and touched the Angel's bare shoulder, and Arthur flinched drastically, shrinking away from his touch as if he'd been scalded.

Alfred's heart sank.

He watched as Arthur pushed himself to sit up, looking gravely down at the bed covers with vacant eyes. "No. You're right. I do apologise, I've been rather unprofessional."

"That's fine, Arthur," Alfred gushed, scrambling to get up alongside him. "It's alright if you – "

"No, no, it wasn't fair on you. Letting you think this was…different. It's just as I said: I don't often get to choose my partners or have anyone so…normal. I let myself get carried away in the fantasy for a minute."

As he spoke, Arthur was using another towel to wipe them both off of sweat and stickiness, and then began collecting the clothes strewn about the large bed.

"I'm as bad as one of my clients," he smiled ruefully, without mirth. "Letting myself get lost in the illusion…"

"It doesn't have to be an illusion, though!" Alfred exclaimed. He knew he sounded eager and naïve, and Arthur probably heard these things all the time, but he was _sure_ no one could mean it as much as he did right now. He needed Arthur to understand that this _could_ be different, this could be whatever he wanted, if Arthur was willing to take a chance. "I mean it, Arthur! We could – "

Arthur reached out to brush his knuckles against Alfred's cheek, and again, the American's mouth snapped shut at the gentle caress.

"Hush, now, poppet," Arthur murmured affectionately, kneeling in front of Alfred and pressing their foreheads together. Alfred's eyes fell shut as he drank in the feeling of being close to Arthur, willing it to last forever.

"It's alright," the English boy continued, his soft voice rhythmic and mesmerising. "Everything will be alright. Tonight was your first time, so it feels like it has to be special and mean something. And on top of that, you discovered that you like to be with men, so it's all very emotional and stressful. But you don't have to let this hold any power over you. I know it seems very important right now, but I promise you this feeling will pass. You don't have to care about the person you're with to enjoy the physical pleasure. Sometimes our minds trick us into thinking we have to be in love, to take away the guilt, or to make the touches feel better. But it's not real. The feelings you think are there are just made up, and I know it can be confusing and shameful but it's not a bad thing. It doesn't make you a bad person. It happens with everyone, and you're young and impressionable, so it's bound to be stronger for you this time. But I promise you, it's not real and you don't have to worry about it or try and make promises you can't keep. Just go home and carry on with your life and everything will be alright. I won't be angry or upset, and you have nothing to feel guilty about if you want to move on. I'm happy to have spent the night with you, that's all that matters."

As much as he didn't want to listen to Arthur's sad words, Alfred knew that the other boy was more experienced, so he tried to consider his advice seriously.

Maybe he _was_ just impressionable. Perhaps he didn't really care about Arthur at all, everything just felt so intense because he was a sodomite and had finally experienced something he'd always unwittingly desired. Maybe it was all just in his mind, rather than in his heart, as he thought it was.

But Alfred hoped that that wasn't the case.

Arthur had said it wasn't bad or shameful if he didn't care about the people he slept with, but Alfred couldn't quite believe it. Even if it wasn't bad, he didn't want to be like that. He should care about the _person_, not what they could _do_ for him. Obviously, there were plenty of men who were fine with the alternative, but _he_ didn't want to be that shallow. To have pretend feelings for someone just because they made him feel good for a while, and to be so selfish as to believe the lies because it made his sins convenient. He wanted to be a better man than the others he'd seen at The Sunflower this evening.

And more importantly, _Arthur_ deserved better, too. Alfred didn't want his feelings to be fake, to care about the English boy only because he was gratifying his base, physical needs – he wanted it all to be real. He wanted to care about Arthur because the boy obviously deserved it, and needed it, and Alfred would be proud to be the one who was there for him.

God, he hoped he liked Arthur as much as he thought he did. He knew it would make life difficult, and maybe painful for a while, but he just couldn't care about that. He _wanted_ it.

But that was so ridiculous wasn't it? To love Arthur already after a conversation and his first intimate experience?

And yet wasn't that enough? What more did he need in order to know he wanted to stay close to this person?

Alfred's eyes flashed open, and Arthur jumped at the piercing blue gaze that bore into his own. He had such strong, wilful green eyes, but now Alfred was commanding their attention, and Arthur was the one who was speechless.

And with that, Alfred knew Arthur must be feeling something for him, too. And knowing _that_, nothing was going to stop him now.

"I'm sorry, Arthur, but I'm a tad bit stubborn. So I appreciate your advice and concern and all, but unfortunately I'm going to keep liking you until you give me a real reason to stop."

Arthur blushed so beautifully: a dark pink that complemented his green eyes spectacularly as they widened in surprise. Then he looked away with a scowl that was such a poor act that it made Alfred smile.

"Well, fine. You'll feel worse about saying these things when you realise they're not true, so I was only trying to help."

"But they _are_ tr– "

"Just shut up and get dressed!"

Arthur flung a shirt at him, and Alfred chuckled as he slipped it on. They dressed in silence, stealing occasional glances at each other that spoke volumes when their eyes met by accident.

"Say, why did you get so happy when you told me your name earlier?" Alfred asked as he stood, buckling his trousers.

Arthur paused in the act of tying up his corset.

"I haven't told anyone my name in years," he said softly, eyes staring off into space as if reliving old memories. "None of the girls at The Sunflower are allowed to know it. That way, it's less easy for anyone to slip up and say it and land us in trouble. If anyone knew a boy were working here, doing what I do…well, you can imagine. Only Natalia and her sister know my real name, and they always call me Angel. So nobody's used my real name in…a very long time."

Silence met his words, and he turned round to find Alfred standing unbearably close. His skin prickled with goosebumps, and he had to take a step away just to breathe. It was too dangerous for them to be so near each other. Arthur was beginning to feel excited around this boy, and that was something he was not allowed to feel.

"Can I see you again, Arthur?"

It was practically a whisper, but Arthur still jumped as if Alfred had shouted in his face.

"B-but I told you, Natalia would kill you if she – "

"Not here," Alfred said, running a hand up Arthur's naked arm. "It doesn't have to be here. I don't want to see you only as the Britannia Angel: I want to see _Arthur_."

The English boy made a choking sound that was obviously an accident, because he quickly covered it with a hollow laugh, and turned his back on Alfred to pick up his gloves from the floor. "And where do you propose that we meet, if not here?"

"I don't know," Alfred confessed. "Some other saloon. It doesn't have to be at night when you're working – we can meet during the day, somewhere out in town."

"_Out_? Ha. I'm not allowed out."

Alfred tilted his head. "What do you mean?"

Arthur turned to look at him over his shoulder, a wry, humourless grin darkening his face. "What would happen if I went out, hm? It's a small town, and we don't get many new people, and certainly not in winter. Nobody can know that Arthur Kirkland exists or they'd start asking questions about him. Where has he been staying? What does he do for a living? It would all lead back to The Sunflower and then we'd be in trouble. Natalia needs to protect the Britannia Angel, and that means Arthur doesn't get to go outside."

Alfred's heart twisted in agony as he pictured Arthur's lonely life stuck in the saloon building, where no one even knew his name.

"You can't live like that!" he exclaimed, scandalised.

Arthur looked up from clipping the striped stockings to his garter and smirked at Alfred's angry scowl. "I can and I do."

"You need to have a life, Arthur!"

"With all due respect, _Alfred_," Arthur scowled back, standing straight and staring him down, angrily, "you're a nobody. A client for a night. You can't just waltz in to The Sunflower and think you know what's best for me just because you're young and stupid and believe everything your heart tells you. Just because we spent an hour together doesn't mean that you have any right to tell me what to do."

"It's not like that!" Alfred defended himself, though his face twisted in guilt. He knew what he must sound like to Arthur, and he didn't want to act like this and be the exact image of everything the Angel warned against. He wanted to be mature and respectful so that the other boy might come to trust him – but, at the same time, he only had tonight to convince Arthur to believe in him.

"I don't think I own you or anything, just because we…did that," Alfred explained, patiently. "But I feel like…we could be great friends. I want to get to know you, because I know there's even more to you than the amazing person I've seen tonight. So I just…want you to come out and have a day off with me. I mean, you obviously deserve it! And what's so terrible about wanting to spend time with a guy your own age? It's not a crime, nor a sin! You should be allowed out to see a friend, and I warrant we could have a fun time. So I just thought maybe we could got out and…enjoy each other's company another way, too."

Arthur looked down at the carpet, fingers twisting together as he fidgeted uncomfortably.

"Come on, Arthur," Alfred pleaded gently, taking a step closer, heart fluttering in hope. "Forget Natalia and her jo-fired rules. You're your own man, and you should get to go outside and have a friend who knows your own name if you want to! Let's go out tomorrow. Just recruit for a bit. You'll have a good time. Honour bright!"

Arthur looked up at him, face blank, but eyes sparkling. "It would be refreshing to have a friend and act like a normal boy for once," he admitted, and Alfred beamed at him, uncontrollably. Arthur couldn't help but grin back. "You're not just offering to be friends to get some free favours out of me are you?" he teased, smirking.

"I know I won't get nothing free from you, Arthur," Alfred smiled back. "But I don't mind working for it. I'll do whatever it takes, whether I have to spend money or time to get you to trust me. I don't mind."

Arthur's face fell again, but he turned his back on Alfred before the American could work out what he was thinking.

Alfred felt so helpless whenever Arthur shut down like that. He didn't want to pressure the other boy if he wanted to be left alone to his thoughts, but at the same time he wanted Arthur to know that he was on his side. Arthur didn't _need_ to close himself off whenever he felt troubled, not around Alfred. Maybe he had learnt to do it automatically, to turn his back on someone and mask his emotions whenever he felt something he didn't want to feel – but Alfred wanted to be the one he could open up to. He knew it was selfish of him to believe he could be that important to Arthur, but he couldn't shrug off the feeling that they would make a great pair.

He hadn't been lying when he told Arthur they could be great friends, and that going out for the day with him didn't have to be anything romantic. Right now, Alfred just wanted to be around him and get to know him, and if he could be Arthur's friend he'd honestly be the proudest man on the planet. He knew deep down that he wanted more, too, but he could wait and figure that in due time. For now, Arthur needed a friend more than anything, and Alfred wanted to be that friend.

"I'll have to sneak out," Arthur said thoughtfully, snapping Alfred out of his thoughts. "But Natalia is going to Gold Hill on business the day after tomorrow. I think I could chance it then."

Alfred beamed at the back of Arthur's head, his heart swelling in hope and delight. Maybe he didn't to badger Arthur about trusting him: the Angel was coming round all on his own.

"I'll meet you at the corner of Wallace Street, then?" the miner asked, picking Arthur's wig up from the ground and brushing it lightly against the boy's bare shoulder.

Arthur turned around and took it, staring fixedly at the golden wig and not meeting Alfred's eyes. "Yes. The day after tomorrow."

Before Alfred could say anything else, Arthur swept over to the mirror and began pinning his wig back in place. Alfred sat down on the bed behind him and watched in fascination as Arthur transformed back into the feminine Britannia Angel. Arthur didn't notice the American's reflection gazing avidly at him, too busy watching his hands carefully in the mirror as he fixed the wig back into place. Then he reached for some powder and rouge and brushed them lightly onto his face.

"You don't wear much make-up, do ya?" the American inquired, watching Arthur work with curiosity.

"Sometimes," Arthur replied. "But Natalia didn't want me looking too much like a painted lady for Francis."

"What do you know about this Francis guy, anyway?" Alfred asked, curious to learn more about the mystery man whose name had been following him all night. If it weren't for Francis, Alfred never would have met Arthur, after all.

"He's exceedingly rich, and very attractive, too, I've heard," Arthur said, smirking at Alfred's reflection as he watched the American's face darken. "French, I believe," he added, laying it on thick with the praise. "And well-educated, sophisticated, accomplished, experienced – "

"All right! I get the picture," Alfred grumbled, scowling to the side and avoiding Arthur's eyes in the mirror.

Arthur laughed to himself, amused and even a bit delighted by Alfred's jealousy. "Don't worry, Alfred, I don't think he'll be my type. I've met plenty of his sort before. I'm pretty sure I'll still prefer you."

The words came out of their own accord as he tried to cheer Alfred up after his teasing. Arthur didn't even realise what he'd said until he grew confused by the long silence, and looked up to meet Alfred's eyes in the mirror. The American was grinning from ear to ear, looking thoroughly pleased with himself, and Arthur cursed himself inside.

"Oh, _do_ put that silly smile away," he frowned, blushing profusely. "You're still a customer. I'm not your sweetheart or anything. I just think that maybe being acquaintances with you isn't such a horrid idea – since we're both sixteen year old boys stuck in Virginia City who happen to be so."

"So what?" Alfred asked, his head tilted to one side like a curious pet.

"It's a way to talk about our kind," Arthur explained, willing his blush away. "We are so."

Alfred looked up at the ceiling as he thought about that for a moment. What did Arthur mean by '_their_ kind?' As in sixteen year old boys? People who live in Virginia City? People who go to bordellos?…

Oh. Right. Sodomites.

"Oh…Yeah…I guess I'll have to think about that one," he mused, resting his chin in his hand thoughtfully.

"What's there to think about?" Arthur frowned. "We just did it, didn't we?."

"Well, yeah, but you're _you_, Arthur," Alfred said blithely, not noticing the blush and startled expression that appeared on his companion's face. "I don't think I'd give a blame if it was some other fella."

Arthur's face turned flaming red under his light make-up, and he stammered for a few seconds before he regained control of his voice.

"Oh, _do_ be quiet! Utter nonsense!"

And with that Arthur leapt up from his seat, wrenched the door open and marched out of the room. Alfred knew that the anger was just the result of Arthur being flattered and not knowing how to handle it. The English boy seemed to have a hard time accepting that he like Alfred and could be genuinely happy around him, but Alfred understood. It must have been hard growing up so many years in a place like this, where any personal feelings were discouraged.

He gave Arthur a head start to cool down, then followed him out of the room. He caught up with Arthur – now fully disguised as a girl again – outside in the corridor, and the English boy led him downstairs to escort him to the exit. They would have to be as quick and quiet as possible to avoid running in to Natalia, for they didn't want her asking questions and figuring out Alfred's true identity.

Alfred leaned in close and whispered "Hey, Arth– "

Arthur practically pushed him into the wall in his haste to cover the American's mouth.

"_Don't!_" At first Alfred assumed he was just going to get berated for acting too familiar, but then he noticed the look of terror in Arthur's eyes. "You _can't_ call me that in public," the English boy begged. "_Please_. I don't know _what_ Natalia would do if she found out! Please, just forget I ever told you!"

"Angel, it's okay," Alfred shushed, heart breaking at the way Arthur was reduced to pleading from fear of the cold madam of The Sunflower. "I won't get you in trouble. I promise. The last thing I'd ever want is for you to get hurt, especially because of me."

The Angel blinked at him for a second, then slowly stepped back and lowered his hand, obviously deciding the American could be trusted. Or at the very least, he had no choice but to hope for the best, since the damage had already been done when he revealed his name to Alfred.

The Angel brushed some imaginary wrinkles out of his green skirts, and bustled off down the corridor as if nothing had happened.

And now Alfred was more determined than ever to save the Angel from the life into which he had fallen.

Although, come to think of it, Alfred didn't know how someone like Arthur had ended up in this place. It was entirely possible that Arthur had _chosen_ this lifestyle, Alfred mused as they descended the magnificent curved staircase down into the parlour. Of course, most people only turned to prostitution out of necessity, but there were still some who chose it for the money it could make them out here in the west. It was a very profitable business. And if Arthur really did like being with men then this job might not be too bad – rich men were practically hand-delivered to him and no one was trying to hang him for it. In fact they were paying him well.

But still, Alfred could tell that Arthur was a bright man, brave and adventurous and eager for something new. He wasn't suited to life as a pet at best, an object at worst. Perhaps he had chosen this life, but it was obvious that he didn't feel there was a way out of it now. Maybe he felt stuck, or even trapped, but Alfred was going to help him out of this rut.

They arrived in the luxurious parlour where the men had waited before the show. Arthur hurried over to open the front doors, then all Alfred had to do was grab his coat from the entrance and he would be free.

"I trust that you had a pleasant evening, sir," said Natalia, from behind them.

Alfred stumbled into Arthur and grabbed his arm in fright.

The Angel neither moved nor spoke, so Alfred had to struggle back to his senses and respond. "Ah, yes! It was exceeding pleasant, ma'am."

"Wonderful," Natalia smiled. It was terrifying: the warmth of her smile did not touch her eyes as she remained staring at him, cold and hard. "I do hope that you'll drop in again. Perhaps even tomorrow? Wouldn't you like that, Angel?"

"Oh, only if the gentleman has any time to spare," Arthur replied, hiding his mouth behind a gloved hand modestly as he spoke, falling back into the shy and innocent act from earlier. His voice was softer and slightly higher pitched once more, and even though Alfred knew better, it was easy to fall back into thinking that the Angel was actually a girl. "I couldn't ask him to come and fritter away his evenings with the likes of me – much as I would love the pleasure of his company again."

"But, of course," said Natalia. "And I do hope that – "

The parlour doors swung open suddenly, and a man strode in purposefully. Alfred assumed for a moment that he must be another owner, judging by the way he waltzed in, but a quick glance at Arthur's confused expression proved otherwise. This man was a stranger here.

The newcomer was younger than The Sunflower's usual patrons, but still older than Arthur and Alfred by a few years. Long, wavy blonde hair bounced against his shoulders, contrasting with the dark, manicured shadow of stubble framing his jaw. His bright blue eyes swept across the three people standing silently in the parlour, and he smiled expectantly as if they had been waiting there for him. He wore an expensive suit, accompanied by a fine cane swinging from one hand. Even the silk handkerchief sticking out of his front pocket looked as if it cost more than Alfred's entire wardrobe.

Natalia looked at the stranger, then back to Alfred, and her horrible mistake dawned across her face. She didn't make a sound, nor moved an inch, but the fury and humiliation was emanating from her so strongly that Alfred feared for his life.

As for the Britannia Angel, Arthur tried to look shocked at Francis' arrival, pretending he had only just put the pieces together at this second, as Natalia had done. He glanced back and forth between Alfred and Francis, as if he hadn't known the entire time that the blonde American standing next to him was not the client he was supposed to be. But Natalia had a shrew eye for lies, and Arthur would only find out later, when they were alone, whether his acting was good enough to fool her on this occasion. It rarely was.

"Monsieur Bonnefoy, I presume?" Natalia asked, turning her back on Alfred and Arthur and stepping forwards to greet the newcomer.

"Indeed," the man said, bowing his head politely. "And you must be the lovely Natalia Arlovskaya, with whom I have been corresponding?" He reached out for her hand, lifting it to his lips and kissing it, even as he sent Arthur a sly smile behind Natalia's back.

"Oh, Monsieur Bonnefoy, you flatter me," Natalia giggled. Her voice and face, directed at Francis, looked so pleasant and honest – but from behind her, Alfred and Arthur could feel the anger coming off her almost in waves. They were in trouble, whether Natalia believed Arthur's story about being fooled or not. They stepped closer together, reassured by having each other at their side.

"We were expecting you earlier this evening," Natalia said, feigning worry. "I do hope that your absence was not the result of some misfortune?"

"I regret to say that it was," Francis sighed, wearily. "Some bandits took it upon themselves to raid my new home, since it is slightly more out of the way to the rest of the town. They had left by the time I returned home late this afternoon, but I am a fan of hunting – and rather accomplished at it, if I may be so bold – so I managed to find them."

"And dealt with them accordingly I hope, monsieur?"

"Absolutely," said Francis with a charming smile, and the cunning flash of his eyes left them all in no doubt that he had killed the men in question. Finally, he turned his attention to the two teenagers behind Natalia, smiling politely as if he had only just noticed them. "And this must be the lovely Britannia Angel of whom I have heard such a great deal?"

Alfred was furious. How dare this pompous whoremonger talk proudly of murdering some trespassers and then flirt with Arthur! He shouldn't even have the right to _look_ at Arthur, let alone talk to him or, God forbid, touch him. The American bristled with rage and indignation next to the English boy, but Arthur ignored him. And if he was perturbed by the Frenchman's words or violent confession he didn't let it affect his act.

He willed a blush to his cheeks and pretended to be flustered at the attention. "M-monsieur!" The Angel curtseyed gracefully and looked away modestly.

"Even more charming in person than I had hoped," said Francis, almost fondly. "I am looking forward to becoming better acquainted with you."

"And I with you, monsieur," said the Angel timidly. "Though I cannot imagine I will be an adequate companion for someone as intelligent and well-travelled as yourself."

"Oh, I can assure you that you will be _quite_ adequate."

Francis turned his head finally to look at Alfred, and found the boy glaring back at him, eyes dark and posture tense, as if restraining himself from pouncing on the Frenchman and wringing his neck.

_Adequate_? He thought the Angel was _adequate_? Faced with such beauty and grace, all he could saw way that this person looked _adequate_? Sure, that was the point of the game for people like Bonnefoy: the suggestions, innuendos, flirting and talking in circles were just as important as the climax. The chase was the most fun for people like him. But Alfred couldn't imagine treating Arthur like he was a toy in the game. Anyone who wanted to spend time with Arthur should treat him with the respect he deserved, not like a tool to add to their own amusement.

Besides, judging by how he'd ended his game of chase with those bandits, Alfred didn't feel comfortable leaving Arthur as a plaything with a monster like Francis.

Alfred made no move to introduce himself, too busy glaring at Francis to respond, doing everything he could to hold back the angry words that burnt like poison in his throat. Natalia was quick to jump in front of him, hiding Alfred from the Frenchman's view. She knew that Francis was drawing conclusions about who this lowly boy was and why he was standing so close to the Britannia Angel. It was unbecoming that the Angel had been sold to someone else when Francis had been unable to come this evening. So crude and impolite, and not at all the image Natalia wanted to convey of her Sunflower and its star performer.

"Forgive me, Monsieur Bonnefoy," the Russian woman said quickly. "The young lad is not part of our establishment. The poor Angel was so upset when you could not make it tonight, she had been so looking forward to meeting a gentleman of your rectitude. I had no choice but to call for her cousin who happens to live close by, so that he could comfort her in her distress. But if you – "

"Now, now, there's no need for that," Francis interrupted with an amused smile, much to everyone's surprise. "You are no elbow relation," he said to Alfred. "Come, you may be honest with me boy, no one will punish you. Tell me: what is your name? You were with the Angel tonight, were you not?"

Alfred looked in terror at Natalia, hoping for guidance, but she only seethed back at him, making no move to indicate whether he should continue the lie. He shot a worried glance at Arthur next, who looked up at him through his eyelashes, looking just as nervously back at him. Alfred didn't know what he was supposed to do, but he knew that he didn't like lying, and he wanted Francis to know that he wasn't afraid of him.

So the young American squared his shoulders, stood up straight and held his head high. "My name is Alfred F. Jones and I'm a miner. And yes, I had the pleasure of spending time with the Britannia Angel tonight, something for which I will be forever grateful, even if it was a mistake."

"Monsieur Bonnefoy, I apologise!" Natalia blurted quickly, throwing a hand out and shoving Alfred behind her once more. "I had never seen him before tonight, and he fits the physical descriptions I had of you, though he is a little young. His habiliments may be a flag of distress and the accent is all wrong, but I assumed he was just putting on an act as some of our patrons like to do, to play into the fantasy of The Sunflower. It was a dire misunderstanding and I assure you – "

Francis waved his hand in the air with a benevolent smile, and Natalia's mouth snapped shut. "That is quite all right, Miss Arlovskaya," Francis said, magnanimously. "I understand, and I assure you that I am not at all deterred from wanting to meet with the Angel properly, as per our agreement." Natalia's shoulders relaxed, though just barely, in relief. "And please do not take the mistake out on the boy," he added, sending Alfred a warm, protective smile.

But although his words and face were kind, there was something untrustworthy about it all, to Alfred's mind. You didn't get to Francis's position in life by being this nice. Not in the wild west. Alfred couldn't help but feel that the gentlemanly act was all on the surface, and that beneath the façade was a ruthless businessman and a greedy pleasure-seeker who would stop at nothing to get what he wanted.

Alfred's suspicion probably showed on his face, but whatever Francis thought of him in return was well hidden behind his twinkling blue eyes and benign smile.

"Tell me, boy, did you enjoy yourself this evening?" the Frenchman asked, sounding genuinely curious.

Alfred blushed to the tips of his ears, glancing tellingly at Arthur before he could stop himself. He swallowed thickly, and tried to recover himself. "The Angel is a wonderful person, sir," he said firmly. "It was an honour to make hi-her acquaintance."

Arthur blushed red and quickly looked down at the floor so that no one could see his face. Natalia watched his strange behaviour, so uncharacteristic and clearly not an act…and then her eyes widened in horror. She glanced quickly between the two teenagers, and Alfred's heart turned to stone in his chest as he saw the enraged look on her face.

She knew. She knew it had been different for the Angel this time. She knew that Alfred was dangerous.

But Francis didn't seem fazed by the boys' obvious behaviour. He just smiled widely, looking genuinely pleased about something.

"Oh, I _am _glad," he said happily. "And I insist you be allowed to come back. I am sure the good madam wants to bar you from the establishment for being a waste of time, but I believe you have every right to come and see the Angel perform, if you wish. Perchance you can even come back as my guest?"

"Perchance," said Alfred, grinding his teeth. Francis was patronising him, and there was almost nothing he hated as much as that.

"No need to look so affronted, boy," laughed Francis. "I can tell you fancy yourself a real contender for the Angel's affections, and there is nothing I enjoy so much as competition. So by all means, come back and try to win the hand of the Angel before I do, with your good intentions and sweet face. This makes me even more eager to get to know her. I am _so_ glad; this is going to be far more fun than I thought."

Alfred's glare intensified as he became more and more outraged with every word. Who did Francis think he was to treat Arthur like a prize to be won! This wasn't a competition between two contenders, it should all be about Arthur and what the English boy wanted! He wasn't some child or a pet who could by won over by sweet words and pretty trinkets. He was a person, and he could make up his own mind - assuming he hadn't done so the moment he laid eyes on both of them.

"Of course," Natalia said, cutting the tense silence that had gripped the little group. "Mr. Jones may return by all means, if you are not opposed, Monsieur Bonnefoy."

Alfred opened his mouth to say that he would definitely be back – he wouldn't leave Arthur to fend for himself against Francis. But Natalia swiftly turned to him with such a deadly, haunting glare that Alfred could actually hear in his head the words that she wanted to speak to him.

_I will kill you if you try to get in the way._

She would allow him to come and amuse Francis with his naïve ideals and foolish attempts at wooing a whore. It would be like a joke to the Frenchman. But if Alfred made any serious attempt to come between whatever plans she had for Francis and Arthur, then he would not be indulged anymore. He had heard rumours that Natalia had had people killed before to protect her interests at The Sunflower – and it was only for lack of a real police force in the lawless boomtown to arrest her that they remained rumours and not fact. There was a reason Arthur considered her to be a real threat to their safety, after all.

Whilst these thoughts were swirling around Alfred's head, tying his insides in knots, Natalia turned back to Francis with a sympathetic expression fixed onto her face.

"Now, monsieur Bonnefoy, you sound like you have had a dreadful evening. Mightn't I offer to have the Angel escort you upstairs for some recruitment after such hardships?"

Alfred's head snapped to Arthur and he stared at the English boy in horror. Of course, he knew Arthur wouldn't give up his job just after meeting him, but Alfred still hadn't really understood what it would mean being in love with a prostitute. For some reason, he hadn't thought about what it would be like when Arthur had to see other clients. And so soon after being with Alfred...It left a sickening taste in his mouth. He knew it was foolish, and he didn't mean to insult Arthur by acting offended, but it still came as such a terrible shock that he couldn't hide it. He wasn't like these people: his face was like an open book.

And for a moment, it seemed as if Arthur was struggling to hide his feelings, too. He looked sadly and ashamedly down at the floor, trying his best to ignore the American, as the two adults discussed their plans for him.

"That sounds like a wonderful idea," smiled Francis, looking for all the world as if he were just agreeing to a drink with a friend, rather than paying for a tryst with another man. "If the Angel is not opposed, of course?"

Alfred's desperate blue gaze was fixed on Arthur, dreading what he would say. He didn't want to be possessive, and he didn't want Arthur thinking that he didn't respect him just because of the obligations of his line of work. But still, his heart shrivelled in despair, and he felt sick to the stomach, and he would have given anything to have Arthur look at him and let him know it would be okay.

But Arthur looked up at Francis as if Alfred wasn't even there. "That sounds lovely, monsieur."

For the first time, Alfred wished he could be as cunning and deceptive as the people of The Sunflower, so that he could hide his feelings from his face and Natalia and Francis didn't get to watch as his heart broke.

"Shall we?" Francis asked, stepping in between Alfred and Arthur and holding his arm out for the Angel to take. Arthur delicately, reluctantly, curled his hand around the crook of the Frenchman's arm, and turned his back on Alfred.

Alfred stared after them as they headed up the stairs. He wouldn't stop them. He had no right to interfere with Arthur's life unless the English boy wanted him to, and Alfred would have to ask him about that another day.

But did Arthur even want him back?

Alfred had to know.

"Angel!"

Francis turned, and Arthur looked at him over his shoulder.

"Goodnight," Alfred called up to him.

Arthur nodded. "Goodnight...Alfred." His name came after a pause, as if Arthur was wondering whether he should say it at all, but then decided that he wanted to, one last time. "I…hope to see you again soon."

And with that he turned his back on the American and led Francis upstairs to the bedrooms where the girls of The Sunflower entertained their guests in private.

But Alfred didn't worry about that. He could almost feel his heart mending pieces of itself back together. Because he knew that Arthur really did want to see him again, and that was all that mattered to him.

* * *

**Glossary and Historical Notes**

**I'll warrant** - I bet/I guarantee

**jo-fired** - a curse word, used in place of "damned." (ex.: "This damned essay is too hard!" / "This jo-fired essay is too hard!") In 19th century America, 'damn,' 'hell,' 'devil' and anything evoking Christian-based religion were the worst swear words, incredibly offensive and taboo in a way few words are these days. So people would never say "Oh my God!" or "Go to hell!" or "Damn it!" or things like that.

**recruit for a bit** - relax

**honour bright** – honest/I promise

**who happen to be so** – this was a phrase I found when doing research about how people referred to homosexuals in the 19th century. At that time, the word "homosexual" hadn't even been invented yet, and "gay" meant "happy/joyful." So before the words we use today came into use, there seem to have been mostly secret codes to talk about homosexual people. "Is he so?" was a way of asking "Is he gay?" It seems as if this was a phrase that only gay people themselves used. So it was like a secret code way of finding out about each other.

**I don't think I'd give a blame** - 'blame' is a substitute for damned. i.e. "I don't think I'd give a damn."

**he had killed the men in question** – the 'Code of the West' dictated that you could fight a man to the death if you thought you were in danger. In England at this time, you could only kill someone if you had "your back against the wall" – i.e. you had to flee unless you had no other options but to engage in combat. But in America, you could choose to either fight or flee from any situation, and if you ended up killing someone it wasn't illegal; it wasn't murder, but self-defence. So although killing a man wouldn't necessarily be as shocking as it is today, these men were bandits who were not attacking Francis himself. They had robbed him and left. And although he had every right to go and hunt them down, the fact that he ended the hunt by massacring the group is a little bit shocking to Alfred and Arthur who are peaceful people. It wasn't self-defence: he literally hunted them down and killed them in revenge, which is still pretty violent even in a society where people can legally shoot each other.

**rectitude** - good character, quality, calibre and honour

**elbow relation** - a distant relative

**habiliments** - clothes

**flag of distress** - sign of poverty

**perchance** - perhaps


End file.
